


The Way Their Hands Touch

by letitrainathousandflames



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Bottom Connor, Canon-Typical Violence, Dismemberment, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hank has more issues than vogue, Kissing, M/M, Mental Link, Mutual Pining, Near Death Experiences, Prosthesis, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Lubrication, Smut, Top Hank Anderson, amanda is a dickhead what else is new, anyway, connor is a good boy what else is new, hank legit can't believe someone would want to fuck him much less LOVE him like whaaat, no beta we die like men, some gore i'm not gonna lie, thirium compatibility, unexpected mental link, yeah but that boy has a bit of a power bottom goin on hehe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-10 20:02:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20857457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letitrainathousandflames/pseuds/letitrainathousandflames
Summary: “What’s your point?”“What’s my point?! Jesus, Connor, you can have literally anyone else, and you’re gonna-”Connor takes another step closer. He’s at arm’s length now, close enough to hold Hank if he wants to. And he wants to, but he holds himself back, voice filled with determination.“I don’t want anyone else, Hank. I want you.”Or, how it took Hank a new limb for him to consider that maybe, just maybe, he deserves to be happy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cion-Altima](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Cion-Altima).

> Hello and welcome to another 3-day-nonstop writing extravaganza, this time gifted to the amazing Cion-Altima on Tumblr, who requested this beauty. The prompt: Hank loses his hand and gets a prosthetic one that allows him to connect to Connor (like Markus and North do). Cue to Fluff and Smut!
> 
> Since I can't just make him pop his hand off, there will be a gory scene involving Hank losing like a third of his forearm much against his will, so beware of the tags. The chapter featuring it will have a warning in the notes before it.
> 
> This fic takes place about a year post-game, after the peaceful Markus route and Deviant!Connor route.

It starts simply enough.

  
After the deviants’ protests, all androids were acknowledged as living, sentient beings, both legally and scientifically. Androids had been categorized as a new form of intelligent life, and per Markus’ request in his position as the American representative of their species, all crimes against androids were to be investigated and persecuted as they would be to humans victims.  
  
A human that harmed an android would be charged for assault rather than property damage, not only because the androids had personhood but also because they were no longer property.  
  
“So.” Hank says, lowering the volume of the heavy metal blasting out of the speakers in the car to make himself heard “How does it feel, being your own person?”  
  
Connor blinks, his LED turning yellow. He had been so focused on reviewing the memories of the past case, but Hank’s voice would always snap him right back into reality.  
  
Hank eyes him with curiosity, his hands resting on the wheel. He was one of the few humans that would still actually drive his car. Everyone loved the self-driving vehicles, being free to watch the surroundings without the risk of getting distracted on the wheel, but Hank... well, he was Hank. The man still had the same phone for eight years now, he was one of the last few people with a TV set he could slap out of a malfunction and he was adamant about keeping things simple.  
  
There is something ironic about his own partner being the most technologically advanced android in existence. But Connor wonders if this was the only reason for Hank to prefer the wheel in his hands rather than trusting a machine to navigate it.  
  
“Connor? You listening?”  
  
Connor nods sharply twice.  
  
“Yes. I was thinking.” Connor pauses; it’s strange, having his mind free to roam about different memories and subjects rather than only seeing his mission as a priority “I don’t know how to assess my feelings about the current situation. I was designed by Cyberlife, and since the day I was...” the word ‘born’ feels wrong in his mind so he decides not to use it “_assembled_, I was theirs. Cyberlife’s android.”  
  
Hank’s forehead creases under his frown as he glances back at the road.  
  
“And that never felt weird to you?”  
  
Connor reaches for his pocket, fishing out his coin and tumbling it over his fingers. The distraction is soothing, and he feels thankful for it. He has no idea why the subject is making him feel so uncomfortable.  
  
“No.” he replies in honesty “Not until Markus told me I didn’t have to obey them. My programming had been feeling a little off for a while then, but everything really changed for me when I tore the down the wall of my programming.”  
  
Hank makes a left, looking at Connor again as he slows down into a narrow street until he stops. Connor holds the coin in his hand, squeezing it tight.

"You sure you're okay?" Hank asks again  
  
“I... it’s nothing.” He swallows down. Strange. Androids don’t need to swallow “Hank, look. 254. We’ve arrived.”  
  
Hank leans close to Connor to look at the window on his side, seeing the line of buildings across the street. It’s a depressing sight, the constructions squeezed together with their dilapidated front, patches of cement missing here and there, most of them most likely one-bedroom apartments packed with entire families.  
  
“All these technological advances and places like this still exist, we drove past like 20 homeless people in the last four blocks, God, what is wrong with this city?” Hank turned off the engine and sighed, unlocking the doors and stepping out of the car “Can you tell dispatch we’ve arrived?”  
  
Connor nodded, walking out as well and sending the message.  
  
“Done.”  
  
Hank shakes his head, a small smile on his lips.  
  
“I’m never gonna get used to how fast you get shit done.”  
  
Connor smiles shyly at him. Since they had become friends, the lieutenant seem to be smiling more often. Connor likes to think it's because of him, even though he doubts that.  
  
They are no longer smiling as they step out of the elevator. They do the usual, Hank standing to the side while Connor knocks on the door to apartment 602. There is no answer. Connor knocks again, waits a few moments. Still no answer. Hank reaches for his gun, drawing it.  
  
“Okay, stand back now.” he asks, gun pointing down, and Connor obliges “I just hope we don’t step into another pigeon-infested hellhole.”  
  
Hank takes a step back, lunging forward and slamming his shoulder against the door; the old lock gives way easily. Connor’s mouth feels dry for some reason as he stands there watching the door swing in with a weak creaking noise, Hank now holding his gun in position as he steps ahead.

  
“Connor?” he hisses, looking over his shoulder, some of his usual impatience showing “Are you sure you’re here with me?”  
  
Connor licks his lips, nodding awkwardly and stepping forward after him.  
  
“Yessir.”  
  
Hank stares at him for a moment to then nod.  
  
“Good. C’mon.”  
  
-  
  
Hank walks in, shaking his head discreetly. What was that just now? Connor seems... distracted. He’s been acting strange for a while now.  
  
He files away whatever thoughts that are trying to blossom in his head about the sight of Connor licking his lips. Things were already awkward enough as they were. He had no idea why the android made him feel so... weird. Not _bad_ weird, he was sure of it, but still weird.

When they met for the first time after the protests, Hank had pulled Connor into his arms and for once he had allowed himself to be honest. No sarcasm, no dry remarks, just four words he never expected to say to an android. _Come here, my friend._

Friend. He haven’t had friends since… well, since his life went to shit. He had friends before, sure, but he managed to drive them all away one by one after he lost his son. The first one to go had been his wife. Their relationship couldn’t have lasted much longer, not after all that, and Hank made sure that none of it was left with his constant drinking and his self-destructive behavior. She had visited him about a week after he had moved out, saying that even if their marriage was over, she would like to see him go back to being a person. Not the person he was before, but _a_ person.

That was when Hank screamed at her to fuck off and threw a bottle of scotch on the kitchen wall. A week later he stopped picking up her calls. Eventually, she stopped trying to reach him.

Then there was his partner in the force, who had been his friend for years and witnessed what Hank’s loss had done to him. He was a good man, one of the lead detectives in the task force headed by Hank himself to destroy the drug rings responsible for distributing Red Ice in Detroit. He had his share of dragging Hank out of bar brawls, or covering up for him when he would show up late for work, reeking of booze. One day he just cleaned his desk and said he had requested a transfer to another precint, and handed Hank a card of the Alcoholics Anonymous’ group two streets from there.

That was when Hank told him to shove it, and it took three men to stop him from punching his former friend. It was a screaming match of “you need help!” and “fuck you!” until Fowler walked out of his office, ordering everyone to stand down. That was Hank’s 7th disciplinary charge that month alone, another one on his record that had been pristine until Cole’s death.

His other friends were losing touch of him, each at their own pace, until Hank had nothing left but the only thing he had asked to keep after the divorce - the Saint Bernard that Cole had asked for his fifth birthday, Sumo. Not that he needed anyone, really. Hank had learned that the best friendships were those where neither part knew too much about the other. A friend to down five shots in a row with you? Great. A friend that gets in your case because _you’re drinking five shots in a row and, Jesus, you already drink vodka from your flask all day like it’s water_… not that great.

The fact is that Hank hates that people care about him because he believes wholeheartedly that it’s a waste. There are better people out there, people that are worth caring about, and the thought of someone caring about him of all people is almost offensive.

“Lieutenant?” Connor says with a small smile, bringing him back into reality “Who is the one getting distracted now?”

Hank looks around the small, empty bathroom he finds himself in before rolling his eyes on his way out.

“I liked you better when you weren’t cracking jokes.”

Connor was still smiling at him.

“You know, by the cadence of your breath and the thermal readings of your body, I can tell that you’re lying.”

Hank kept walking in the cramped apartment, checking another door that led to an empty closet.

“Shit, really? You could’ve just asked.”

Connor walked past him into the kitchen/living room with a smirk.

“I’m kidding.”

Hank forces a cough to disguise his laughter. _Goddamned Connor_, how does he just know how to be insufferable and funny at the same time? He opens the last door, most likely the bedroom’s.

“Well, maybe it’s time we talked about your bad sense of humor, Conn- oh shit.”

The room is empty, except for the three androids lying on the floor. Hank is still careful as he walks in, sweeping the room with his gun trained ahead. No one inside. He lowers his gun, pausing for a moment before holstering it again.

It is a disturbing scene, as the previous ones leading to this investigation had been. The walls and floor were painted with blue spatters, and the androids had been dismembered, clearly not in the clean, technical way they would be disassembled in the Cyberlife laboratories while powered off but with some kind of cutting tool, and while they were actively struggling to either escape or fight back.

Connor walks in after him, brown eyes quickly assessing their surroundings.

“They’re all dead.” he says, the little inflections in his voice denoting shock and pity in the same measure “Exsanguination. They were mutilated and their thirium veins became exposed, leaking it all out. They bled out with every push from their thirium pump until they were empty.”

Hank nods and looks down at the body closest to him. It’s a beautiful girl with black hair and choppy bangs that are messy and stained with the bright blue of her blood. Her eyes are still open and glassy, staring blankly at the ceiling. She looks disturbingly human, but her perfection – the symmetry, the flawless skin – makes the sight of her even more unsettling.

“Can you, uh. Can you do that thing where you reset them for a minute?”

Connor looks at Hank to then lower his eyes, shaking his head.

“Unfortunately, I can’t. They won’t work without thirium in their veins. Androids need it to power all of our functions, speech, movement, thought, all the things needed to conduct a questioning.”

Hank stares at a pattern of blue sprayed on the wall closest to him.

“So we got squat. Well, shit.”

-

Connor kneels down close to one of the androids, looking at what was left of their right arm and analyzing it. The rough, frayed tips on the artificial skin suggested a dented blade, and the way they were pulled towards the same direction indicated a circular shape, most likely some kind of power saw.

“I may have discovered the murder weapon from the shape of their wounds.” he states, touching the wide puddle of thirium under the deactivated android to then press his blue-stained fingers to his tongue “This is a PJ500 model reported missing two weeks ago.”

“What did I say about sticking evidence in your mouth?” Hank says in mild disgust

Connor stares at the android’s face. It’s a tall, presumably male model with dark complexion and almond-shaped eyes. Before his deviancy, Connor didn’t – couldn’t - notice anything that wasn’t pertaining to his investigation, but now every detail gets to him. He’s only recently begun to notice the differences between human and androids when they are no longer alive. Humans often look like there’s something missing in them when they die. Connor can’t understand what it is that is missing, but there is something.

Androids, on the other hand… Nothing seems to change when they are no longer functional. They look just like they would when they’re in their boxes prior to being turned on for the first time. Before life is sparked in them and after their life ends, they still look the same.

He thinks about the first Chloe model at her very first public interview, and the words she spoke: all humans have something that we don’t – a soul. Connor wonders if maybe that could be what was missing in the humans when they died.

Connor notices Hank sinking down on his knee next to him, flinches a bit when the lieutenant places his hand on his shoulder.

“You good there?” Connor nods, trying to understand why he feels an urge to reach up and close the android’s eyes. This is a crime scene, he shouldn’t move anything that’s not essential to be moved “You’ve been acting strange.”

Connor shakes his head, glances at Hank.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

Hank looks at him with an eyebrow raised, and it’s like his eyes can see right into Connor.

-

Hank wishes he could understand Connor better. The android has always been honest with him, far more honest than Hank himself have ever been with him, and he was easy to read when they first started working together. Just like any other rookie, overachieving, too focused on the objective to care about anything else. A bit out of touch with humans’ formalities, and completely out of touch with any sense of personal space.

But since he started acting out of his initial protocols, choosing to help Hank when he almost fell off that ledge, sparing those girls’ lives at the Eden Club, trying to reach out for Hank over and over and over despite the way he treated Connor… well, it was like Hank finally realized that Connor wasn’t just an expensive computer with arms and legs and an unnecessarily charming face, but an actual person capable of making choices and learning from his mistakes and making better choices based on that.

Which was, honestly, a better version of Hank when he thought about it. Sometimes he wonders which one of them really deserved to be called human.

Hank hasn’t noticed for how long he had been staring into Connor’s eyes but he’s vaguely aware that it has been longer than it should, and he can only hope that Connor hasn’t noticed it either. Connor’s eyes are gorgeous, a deep rich brown that seem to pull him in. Hank is painfully aware of how long he’s been staring at them now, but he can’t stop it.

“We should report this.” Connor says softly, not breaking eye contact, and Hank blinks, finally managing to avert his eyes

“Yeah.” Hank places his hands on his knees, getting back up on his feet “Yeah, we should.”

On the way back, Hank just sinks down on his seat, pressing play on the radio and letting the heavy metal blast from the speakers. What the hell is going on with him? Why does Connor make him feel so weird? They had become partners, even friends, for fuck’s sake, and Hank still feels uncomfortable around him. Not quite uncomfortable, not as he did before, but… weird.

Connor seem to be bouncing his coin from one hand to another. He looks at Hank, then down at his own hands.

“Am I bothering you, lieutenant? I’m aware that my fidgeting may disturb you, and I can stop if you want me to.”

“Wha?...” Hank slams his hand on the horn and shows his middle finger to some asshole cutting him off “No. Do whatever you want, I don’t mind.”

Connor gives him a small smile.

“Thank you.”

Hank feels even weirder about Connor when he smiles at him like that.

-

Later that day, Connor is still cross-referencing the most recent files of androids reported missing. It’s a difficult task, especially because the accounts of androids being taken as actual legal statements were a very new process, and several police officers were still refusing to take them seriously. It frustrates Connor, how the investigation could’ve been running much more smoothly if it weren’t for some people’s lack of professionalism and their prejudice against androids.

Hank sits back on his chair in front of him and yawns, picking up his phone.

“Hey, look at the time. We’re off the clock.”

Connor keeps typing, offering him a glance and a nod.

“Take your time off, lieutenant. I’ll keep checking if there’s anything new.”

Hank gets up, picking up his coat and pocketing his phone.

“Don’t you wanna rest up some too? You’ve been at this since this morning.”

Connor fights off a smile. He doesn’t know why the lieutenant’s small gestures of concern often hidden behind a careless demeanor make his thirium pump work faster. It’s a strangely pleasing feeling, one he’s only ever noticed after his deviancy process had begun.

“Androids don’t require sleep, sir, only about a couple of hours in standby which definitely doesn’t make it worth it to leave the precint.”

Hank scoffs, shaking his head.

“Connor, you can’t just stay here all day long.”

“Actually, I can.” Connor says deftly, still typing “As I said, I don’t require…”

“You have rights now, you dumbass.” Hank interrupts, sounding exasperated but also slightly amused “You can, and should, take a break.” The lieutenant takes a moment, looking pensive “You have anywhere to go to?”

Connor stops typing, looking up to Hank.

“I…” Connor still isn’t used to the way Hank can make him stutter, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever be “I usually just enter rest mode here for a couple of hours, then I get back to work.”

Hank looks at Connor with an expression that looks like **[word search complete]** pity. He runs a hand over his grey hair.

“Well, that settles it; we’re going to my place.”

Connor looks back at his screen, hesitating. Despite his function, his objective of finishing this case as a competent police officer, his first impulse is to say yes, because he wants to be with Hank, much more than he wants to wrap up his search for the night. Not the right attitude for a law enforcement android. It’s all so strange. He blames it again on his deviancy.

“I don’t think I should. There are about thirty files still waiting to-“

Hank rolls his eyes.

“Stop being a pain in the ass and get up already.”

It’s the first time he’s walking into Hank’s place having been invited to. For some reason, Connor finds it painful to access the memory of that first night when he had found Hank collapsed on the floor, his shirt and chin stained with whiskey and a revolver close to his hand. He pushes the memory away, nodding when Hank holds the door open for him.

With loud, happy barking, Sumo rushes over to them and stands up on its hind legs to slam its paws on Connor’s chest. If it wasn’t for his android strength, he would probably have been knocked over.

“Hello there.” Connor smiles, petting Sumo’s head while the dog licks his other hand “How are you, Sumo?”

Hank shakes his head as he shuffles out of his jacket with a tiny smile. Sumo jumps on him next.

“Hey you big fluffball, I’m home.” Sumo gets back down, wagging its tail happily “You don’t drink anything, do you, Connor?”

Connor watches as Hank tosses his jacket over the couch, walking to the kitchen.

“Not really; I can emulate drinking, but it has no purpose other than making humans comfortable around me. That, however, is restricted only to water, as sugar might stick to my biocomponents, and alcohol could destroy the sensitivity of the DNA sampler on my palate.”

Hank stares at him from the kitchen, two glasses in his hand.

“We sure don’t want that, although it would be a relief to stop seeing you sticking people’s blood in your mouth. So water, then?” Connor nods, and Hank points to one of the three chairs “Go on, sit down.”

Connor walks up to the kitchen, and his brain quickly makes the connection between the number of chairs and the fact that Hank most likely had his son sit on one of them and his spouse on the other. He sits down on the one on his left, and after pouring their drinks, Hank sets two tall glasses filled with a transparent liquid on the table, sighing out as he sits in front of Connor, pushing one of the glasses to the android.

“There. Two waters.”

It takes Connor about two seconds to analyze the liquid on his glass – H2O, water with small traces of other elements – and the one in Hank’s glass - C2H4(OH)2, ethanol hydrate, with traces of citric acid, methanol, glycerol and propanol.

“I’m sorry, lieutenant,” Connor says gingerly “but I believe you’ve made a mistake. My glass contains water, but yours contain alcohol. Vodka, according to my analysis.”

Hank raises his eyebrows in what Connor can only believe to be feigned surprise.

“Is that so? Well, I guess I got distracted.” And he takes a long sip of his glass to then set it back down on the table.

Connor brings his own glass to his lips, drinking some of it slowly. His systems would distill the liquid, and it could be used later to keep his ocular globes moist or even produce tears out of his eye ducts. Not that it had ever happened before. Connor had seen androids crying before, but even after his deviancy, it had never happened to him. He wondered what kind of emotion would bring the need to cry in him, or it would ever happen.

“I didn’t ever thank you, did I?” Hank asks, turning his glass around between his fingers, his eyes low “For what you did at the Cyberlife tower.”

Connor looks at Hank, watches him turning his glass round and round, the liquid dancing inside it with every turn. His analysis deems that the lieutenant is feeling uncomfortable. Connor wonders if it’s his presence that makes him feel this way, and it makes him feel like his circuits are being tugged at from inside. He doesn’t want Hank to be uncomfortable.

Wanting things is something entirely new to Connor, but he knows, even if he doesn’t understand why he knows it – he knows that he wants Hank to be… his system avidly seeks for a word that can explain it, settling for _happy_. He wants Hank to be _happy_. In a lifetime of following priorities without understanding or agreeing with them, this is the first time his priority actually feels right, makes sense.

His priority is to make Hank happy. That’s all he wants.

“You don’t have to thank me, sir. I did what was right.”

Hank takes another long drink of his glass, emptying it and looking up to Connor.

“Cut the ‘sir’ crap, you can call me Hank. We’re friends.” he makes a pause, blinks slowly “You saved my life. You didn’t have to.”

Friends, Connor thinks, synthetic brain bombarding him with every definition of the word. **[word search complete; definition found] **Middle English _frend_, from Old English _frēond_; word of Old High German root; one attached to another by affection or esteem; a person who you like and enjoy being with**. **

Hank _enjoys_ being with Connor. Hank feels _attachment_ for him. Connor can feel his thirium pump work faster only at the thought of it.

Connor stares at Hank, getting lost in his piercing blue eyes. He has only recently started to notice the things that bring him joy, things that would made his chest feel warm and his lips twist into an involuntary smile, and he notices a pattern – almost all of them involve Hank – his voice, his personality, the way his tone would become low and soft whenever he became concerned about Connor, asking him if he was okay. And his eyes… Connor doesn’t really think there is anything worth looking away from them now.

Maybe the way his eyes seem to pull Connor in is what makes him allow the honest answer spill from his lips.

“I care about your life, Hank, even if you don’t.”

Hank frowns for a moment to then lean back on his chair, squinting at the android. He lets out a small laugh, averting his eyes from Connor.

-

Hank gets up on his feet, swaying a bit. He isn’t even close to drunk enough to deal with what Connor had just said, or the way his brown eyes staring deep into his own are making him feel. He takes a couple of steps to the cabinet behind him.

“Need another drink.” _maybe a whole bottle_, he thinks to himself

Hank can hear the chair dragging on the floor as Connor stands up as well.

“I don’t think you should consume any more alcohol for the day, Hank.”

Hank ignores him, grabbing the bottle of vodka on the lower shelf and turning around. Somehow, Connor had crept up to him close enough to wrap his fingers around his wrist, making him set the bottle on the sink.

“Your kidneys are strained enough as it is, and I can tell that the percentage of alcohol in your blood is far above average as of now.” Connor says in a level tone, and holy shit, his hand feels warm and soft on Hank’s wrist, and why does it make his heart jump in his chest? “I recommend you to go take a shower, slightly cold if possible, not to cause your blood pressure to drop, and to eat something in order to balance the alcohol you’ve already ingested.”

Why are Connor’s hands warm and soft? Hank had always imagined they would feel like plastic, cold and stiff, but they feel just like another human’s instead. Hank squints at Connor. Why does he have to be such an insufferable bastard?

“Gee, doc, thanks but I don’t need your advice. Now get your hand off of me.”

Connor wrenches Hank’s hand away from the bottle, maintaining eye contact with Hank. The lieutenant would be lying if he said that he isn’t counting every freckle on Connor’s face, committing them to memory. He isn’t even trying to break free from Connor’s grasp. What the hell is it that Connor can mesmerize him on a whim?

“I’m asking you as your friend.” Connor says, little inflections in his voice carrying concern and pleading “Please, Hank.”

Hank grabs the front of Connor’s suit, and for a moment he just freezes in place. Part of him wants to just shove Connor away, bark a handful of insults and demand to be left alone; another part of him, however, wants to pull Connor closer, tip his chin up and-

Hank does neither, letting go both of Connor and the bottle, sighing out heavily.

“Fine. I’ll be right back.” he looks down at his wrist “You gonna let go of me or do you wanna join me in there?”

Jesus, why is he flirting now? No, this isn’t flirting, it’s just banter. Friendly banter, that’s all.

Connor’s cheeks turn into a slight blue shade underneath the artificial skin as he holds Hank’s wrist still. The android licks his lips tentatively, and holy shit, he’s got no business being this handsome. Hank blames the thought on the fact that most androids are made to be aesthetically pleasing, but he knows himself well enough to know that a pretty face isn’t enough to throw him off his rhythm like that.

Connor is kind. And has a good… heart? Soul? Morals? Whatever it is, he is a good person that actually cares about Hank, no matter how much of a fuck-up he is. The fact that the best partner he’s ever had owns a face that looks good enough to render him speechless, well...

Hank sighs, staring at Connor’s brown eyes, noticing how nice the soft blue hue looks on his cheeks. He thinks about how he’s never seen them like that before, and he’s about to ask Connor what the hell is up with his face when it hits him. Androids have blue blood. Connor is blushing. _Oh, shit_, Hank thinks, Connor’s _blushing_ over his stupid little remark and now he just wishes he could punch himself.

Wait, is this why he's been acting strange, is this why...? Hank pulls himself away from that rabbit hole before he falls right down into it.

Connor releases his wrist, fingers slowly trailing down the lieutenant’s knuckles before retreating for good.

“I’m gonna… go.” Hank mumbles, walking out of the kitchen as fast as he can manage to

_What the hell is happening?!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor offers something that Hank can't bring himself into believing to be deserving of. So he acts the only way he knows how - being an asshole that drives everyone away.

Connor sinks down to the couch, listening to the water running from Hank’s bathroom while Sumo plops its chin over Connor’s lap demanding head scritches, which Connor promptly provides. _Wanna join me in there?,_ the question echoes in his head, and Connor can feel the heat traveling up to his face again.

He nods at the TV, switching it on, and the basketball game being transmitted is interrupted by the commercial break; a trailer for a romantic movie comes up, and it features two men staring longingly at each other, speaking of trivial things and of how they’ve missed each other. One of them places his hand over the other one’s, and they lean closer, pressing their lips together, one of them reaching to pull the other closer by the back of his neck as the background music swells and a voice-over announces that the movie will be the best romance story of the season.

Connor stares at the basketball game that comes back on without really seeing it, mind drifting a few minutes back. He and Hank had been so close just now, staring at each other in silence for a time that according to his system had been **[23 seconds]** less than a minute and yet it somehow felt like it lasted hours. Connor thinks of Hank’s half-open lips back then… he wonders why did he feel so interested in it, like something was urging him to lean closer and **<strike>[press their lips together]</strike>** kiss him like the men in the movie.

He pictures Hank kissing him deeply like that, imagines the two of them pressing their bodies together and kissing over and over, and it brings heat to his lower stomach. In fact, his entire body feels at least a degree hotter now.

“Run… Run diagnostics?” he murmurs to himself, and his systems run a quick checkup

**[minor internal heating. Increased activity of the thirium pump.]**

Connor stands up drawing a deep breath, letting the cool air enter his artificial lungs and cool down his system. He ignores Sumo’s whining and walks over to Hank’s room, sliding the door to the lieutenant’s wardrobe open and reaching to the sleeve of his stripped shirt. He brings it up to his face, almost brushing over his lips and nose. He draws in another deep breath, recognizing and **[word search complete]** _enjoying_ Hank’s scent in the fabric.

He wonders if it’s strange for an android to feel the way he does right now. Not too long ago he wasn’t meant to feel anything at all, and now he feels like he’s swimming in emotions. Some of the ones he feels on a daily basis are manageable, like the joy of knowing his people are free now, or the mild discomfort of meeting detective Reed on his way to get Hank some coffee, only for Reed to mutter insults at the android on occasion. Other emotions are just too much, like the one he feels whenever Hank smiles at him. It’s like his **<strike>[circulatory pump]</strike>** heart might just swell and burst by itself.

Connor sniffs the fabric again. Hank’s scent… Connor decides this is his favorite smell.

-

Hank stands under the water stream, pressing his forehead to the wall and exhaling slowly.

Whatever’s messing him up this bad definitely isn’t the glass of vodka that he had just downed in two gulps. The water stream hits his forehead and infiltrates through his hair, making it stick to the back of his neck as he straightens his back up. He reaches for the bottle of shampoo nearby and squeezes some of it on his palm to then run it over his hair, shutting his eyes as it lathers.

Connor is his friend. He’s surprisingly okay with it, despite his whole history with androids and all the hate he used to feel towards them. Connor is his friend. That’s there is all about that.

So what is this feeling in the back of his mind, something he had never felt for any of his friends before? He wants to have Connor around, sure, but… he wants more. Whenever they’re apart, he misses Connor, his voice, his little quirks. Even the way he tosses that stupid coin back and forth.

He shoves his head under the water stream again, feels the foam traveling down his face and over his chest. Ok. So he wants to keep Connor close. He can work with that. He just has to keep himself in check so that he won’t be a massive asshole about it.

-

When Connor hears the tap squeak shut and the water stop running, he quickly lets go off the lieutenant’s shirt, closing his wardrobe’s door again. After about three minutes, Hank opens the bathroom door, dressed in black pants and a hoodie with the Detroit Police Department logo. His hair is still wet, and he combs it away from his face with his fingers, squinting as he walks into the bedroom.

“What you’re doing here?”

“I- I was going to bring your clothes to you, but I couldn’t pick one.” **[software instability]** Connor winced; Lying to Hank made him feel uncomfortable “I-I’m sorry.”

Hank raises an eyebrow, gesturing at himself.

“I already grabbed these before going to the shower.”

Connor gives him a wry smile.

“Clearly.”

The two of them share a moment of uncomfortable silence, or at least Connor hopes he’s not the only one feeling this way. He should inform Hank about his current situation, the way he’s been feeling strange.

“Listen, I-”

“Connor-”

They stop abruptly after speaking over each other. Connor blinks, looks up to Hank.

“I’m sorry. Go on, lieut- Hank.”

Hank presses his lips together, nodding.

“Uh, Connor. I’ve been thinking… since you don’t have a place of your own, you could, uh.” Hank scratches his beard, eyes drifting through the room like he wants to look anywhere else except at Connor “You could stay here, if you want to.”

Connor parts his lips, jaw feeling heavy. Hank is inviting him to stay for the night? This… this is very unexpected, and also **[word search complete]** wonderful. He wants to stay close to Hank… and Hank is giving him an opportunity to do so. He feels his lips stretching in a grin that he can’t fight back.

“I do. I promise I won’t bother you, Hank. And I’ll be off first thing in the morning.”

Hank looks at him, gives him a long stare with those piercing blue eyes, sighing out. He seem to be struggling to speak his mind. Connor wonders if he’s changed his mind, and it makes him feel like the cables in his chest are tightening.

“What if… what if you didn’t leave? I mean that’s, uh…” Hank runs a hand over his face, groaning “What if you lived here? Like a- a roommate?” He gestures with his hands like he’s stating the obvious “It would make our job easier, I wouldn’t have to drive all the way to the station to get your updates on the case before we followed the investigation! What do you say?”

Connor blinks, feels the electric current down his spine. Hank… is inviting him to stay for good. Or at least until this particular case is over. Either way, he’ll have more time close to Hank than he ever dreamed he would be able to. His artificial breath seem to have lost its rhythm, and Connor sucks in a breath through his mouth.

“Yes.” he says, a tad more excitedly than he meant to, trying to keep his tone level from then on “Sounds ideal. And, again, I promise I won’t bother you.”

Hank chuckles, and the sound makes something flutter within Connor.

“I’m sure you won’t.” he gestures for Connor to follow him as he walks out of the room, and Connor follows him to the living room “I have rules though – you be nice with Sumo, and don’t touch my vinyls, it’s hard enough to come by them as is.”

Connor looks at the carefully stacked disks under the record player.

“I won’t.” Connor pauses “Can I ask you a personal question, Hank?”

Hank gives him a half-smile.

“Like you don’t ask 20 of those on a daily basis. Go on.”

“Why do you listen to your music in such an outdated device? You could download the all songs you like online if you wanted to. If you don’t know how to, I’ll be glad to help you?”

Hank raises an eyebrow.

“Oh my god… this is just like when you asked me about the books. It’s about the feeling, Connor, c’mon.”

Connor frowns, LED blinking yellow as he tries to comprehend what Hank means. Hank sighs and nods at the couch.

“Sit down and listen, will you?”

Connor means to warn Hank about the fact that he cannot really listen to music, not as a human would, but so much has changed about him since he turned deviant he can’t even be sure about that anymore. So he sinks down on the couch and folds his hands over his lap, waiting. Hank offers him a smile, going to the record player and picking a vinyl from a case that has a black-and-white picture of a black woman dressed in an elegant dress and a pearl necklace. Connor analyses the object, and his brain quickly provides the information **[Ella Fitzgerald and the Daydreamers, 1947, Decca Records, catalog #24332].**

Hank holds the vinyl by its edges very carefully, easing it down on the record player and gingerly setting the needle on the corner of it. It’s an interesting thing, watching Hank being so… delicate. It’s a new side of him that Connor doesn’t think he’s ever seen, and he finds it **[word search complete]** endearing.

The first few notes of a piano being played reach Connor’s auditory processor units, followed by occasional notes from a deep bass, and he watches as Hank joins him on the couch, turned to the android. A woman’s voice joins the music after a few more notes, her words speaking of about not understanding why she loves someone the way she does. It’s certainly very different from the heavy metal music he usually hears in the car, loud guitars, fast-paced drums and someone usually screaming about blood-drenched battlefields.

Hank looks at Connor, smallest smile on his lips.

“See the way the sound almost reverberates? Can’t get this from the digitalized versions.” The music goes on, and Hank taps his fingers to his knee, following the rhythm set by the bass; he remains silent for a few moments to then speak again “So? What do you think?”

Connor licks his lips. He can tell how much Hank appreciates his music, and he makes an effort to pick the right words.

“The musicians clearly follow an implied harmony, something very common in jazz music, and the progression of chords fits the rhythm. The non-diatomic harmony is present too, which certainly is a bold choice that requires a skilled singer, and this one seem to have the range for it. There is also-”

“Connor” Hank calls sharply, and Connor silences, watching Hank as he shakes his head “Just… stop analyzing the technicalities and listen. Close your eyes and concentrate on how it makes you feel.”

Connor cast his eyes down, chewing on his lip. Just what he had been thinking earlier. The one thing he lacks.

“I… I don’t know if I can do this. I’m… I’m just an android, Hank.”

The warmth of Hank’s hand on his shoulder startles Connor to then immediately make him feel more at ease, and Hank gives him a nudge.

“Just try it. Go on, close your eyes.”

And Connor does. He allows his LED to pulsate with a yellow light as his brain processes the sounds reaching his ear. The passionate way the woman sings, the low notes of the bass, the piano that fills the space between her words. It’s something that Hank cares about, which makes it inherently special, and Connor decides he likes it. Especially the little cadences of the piano… he lets the information about which note is a G or a D melt away and focuses on how they sound and how well they fit together.

When he opens his eyes again, he is met with Hank’s smile.

“So?”

Connor smiles back at him, nodding.

“I like it. It’s beautiful, and I enjoy the piano especially.”

Hank lets out a quiet laugh, nodding back at Connor.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s good.”

-

Later that night, Hank had just finished brushing his teeth, walking out of the bathroom to find Connor sitting on the couch, humming along to the music. He really seemed to be enjoying Hank’s collection.

“So,” he says, and Connor turns to look at him with a curious look on his face “I don’t really have a guest room. Do you I think you’ll be fine on the couch? It’s a bit small for you.”

Connor looks back at the couch as if he is measuring it with his eyes.

“I don’t really need to lie down to sleep, Hank. It takes me about a couple of hours to complete rest mode, and I can easily do it sitting on any flat surface.” he blinks, looking back up at Hank as he stands up “However, you should have some rest now in order to achieve a proper sleep cycle before you head out to work. Most humans need about eight to nine hours of sleep - the myth of you needing only seven or six is widely spread, probably by employers in an attempt to force their employees to work more hours regardless of how detrimental it might be to their health.”

Hank just stands there, staring at Connor. Hell, the man _talks_. Hank doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it, and he wants to punch himself for finding it – ugh, even the word bothers him - _cute_.

“Fine, fine, I get it. I’m off to bed. Sumo, bedtime.” Sumo stands up from the corner it had been lying at, walking right up to its bed and flopping down on it with a small groan “Heh… the only command he ever obeys. You’re sure you’re gonna be okay there, Connor?”

Connor nods, smiling softly.

“Yes, Hank. Don’t worry about me.”

Hank frowns, shaking his head.

“I’m not… I’m not worried about you. I’m just… ugh. Goodnight or whatever.” he walks into his bedroom, closing the door behind him and facepalming

_Why does Connor make him feel so flustered?_ Hank shuffles over to his bed, letting himself collapse on top of it and reaching for a corner of the sheets so that he can cover himself all the way up to his head. He can’t help but feeling strangely drawn to him. Maybe he’s just needy. That kind of thing happens when you haven’t had a friend in over three years.

Yeah, he must be with some kind of emotional void, and Connor’s presence is making him too eager for… a connection? Companionship? Friendship? He doesn’t really know what he wants from Connor, and the more he thinks about, the more confused and frustrated he feels.

“Get some fuckin’ sleep and stop thinking.” he grumbles at himself

It had been a good day. He got to sit down and play a third of his vinyl collection to his new friend instead of just drink until he passed out or vomited or both, and now said friend was sleeping at his place. And even if he had regrets about asking him to stay over, at least there would be no awkwardness in the morning – Connor said he would be off to work on schedule, which is much earlier than Hank ever is up to begin with.

He tried to stop thinking about the way Connor smiled happily at him while they enjoyed their music, but the thought of it actually made him feel a soothing warmth spreading in his chest, and he slowly became more and more sleepy, and soon enough he was snoring softly.

Things don’t go exactly as planned. Hank wakes up, keeping his eyes closed to try and fall back into sleep despite the morning light that filters between his curtains. The faint sound of clinking silverware makes him crack one eye open, waiting; then there is a bark from Sumo and what definitely sounds like someone trying to shush the dog.

Hank jerks his body up sharply, suddenly feeling very awake. There is someone in the house. He quietly fishes a handgun from the drawer of his bedside table, getting up from his bed and positioning himself by the door to then slowly open it. He can see someone move in the kitchen, and he steps out, gun trained on the possible target.

“Keep your hands where I can see them.” He orders with his voice still rough from sleeping, and that’s when the figure in the kitchen turns to him, he immediately recognizes Connor

“Good morning, lieuten- uh, Hank.” Connor says with a smile despite the weapon pointed at him, looking back at the stove

The memories come back as Hank lowers the gun.

“Connor? Connor.” his sleepy brain connects the dots; ah, yeah, he had invited Connor to stay over “What the hell are you doing there?”

Connor looks down at the pan on his hand like he’d only noticed it after being interrupted from… whatever the hell he’s doing.

“Oh. I’m making you breakfast.” With that, he effortlessly flips what looks like a pancake three times in the air before it lands back on the pan with a sizzling noise “I’m not particularly skilled in cooking, but I called one of Markus’ friends – his name is Simon and he used to be a housekeeping android, so he knows a lot about cleaning and cooking. He gave me a few tips and I decided to give it a try. I hope you like it.”

Hank looks from him to the table, where a plate there already has about twelve pancakes stacked on it before Connor adds the thirteenth one on top of it. There is also a glass of what looks like orange juice, and the table has been set with Hank’s plate and cutlery. Connor turns off the stove and points at the table.

“You should eat it while it’s still hot, Hank.”

Hank squints at the table, waiting for his brain to provide any sort of reaction, but he can only manage to quietly whisper ‘holy shit’. He walks to the table, pointing at the beautiful breakfast. He hadn’t seen anything like that – or smelt pancakes in his house since Cole’s death.

“You… made this?”

Connor nods.

“Correct.”

Hank can feel his jaw drop.

“Damn, Connor… you didn’t have to.”

“It was no trouble at all.”

But then something makes Hank’s chest feel tight, and he shakes his head, looking at Connor. Connor, standing straight like he’s Hanks… butler or something.

“No, no, you don’t get it. You _shouldn’t_ have to, do you understand?”

Connor’s LED blinks yellow, and a crease marks his forehead so slightly. Even when he’s confused Connor is polite.

“I don’t think I’m following.”

Hank brings a hand to his own forehead.

“Jesus… Look, Connor, you’re not my employee, or my servant, or whatever the hell Cyberlife made you think you are. You’re my partner, my friend! You don’t have to cook, or make yourself available to cater to my needs! You must be late for work and Fowler might give you shit over it because you thought you had to cook me some goddamn pancakes!”

“Hank…”

“No, you listen to me, goddamnit.” Hank continues, lowering his hand “I don’t want you to mess up your life because I’m a mess of a person, okay? It doesn’t work like that, and I sure as _fuck_ don’t want it to work like that.”

“It’s eight and three in the morning.”

Hank pauses for a moment, too caught up in the point he is trying to make, then he blinks.

“What?”

“It’s eight and three, well, now eight and four, in the morning.” Connor says softly, eyes soft, all of him so soothing and gentle “We’re both in time for work, I made sure I cooked everything with enough time for you to eat and get ready before we leave.”

Hank swallows down and shakes his head. He is happy Connor is taking care of him, but at the same time it feels strange, unfamiliar. To be cared for, to have someone help him. He simultaneously wants and doesn’t want it. Maybe this whole thing was a bad idea. Maybe he isn’t really ready to have friends again.

“Well, ok, but that still doesn’t make it right for you to feel like you have to… do stuff for me. I can take care of myself, for fuck’s sake!”

Connor nods vehemently.

“Of course you can. But I had the time, and I wanted to help you, Hank. If it bothers you, I apologize.” Connor’s voice stutters, his eyes darting back and forth “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to eat, I just wanted to help, I...”

Hank grits his teeth, guts wrenching with shame for his behavior and all he wants is to get out of this situation, to go back to normal, to familiarity, to his empty house and sad half-burnt eggs and bacon with coffee strong enough to make up for the hangover of the previous night as usual. He knows he’s not deserving of Connor’s kindness, and he wants it _away._

“If you really wanna help, then leave me alone!”

He regrets the words as soon as he says them. He watches as Connor’s LED goes yellow, the android’s brown eyes going wide for a moment.

“Excuse me?”

“I said leave me alone. Go ahead, I’ll meet you at the station later. I just… can’t have you here now. Get out.” Connor just stands there, staring back at him with his brow creased and his eyes wide “I said _get out!_”

Connor’s LED blinks red for an instant, and Hank remembers how it only looked that way when Connor got shot or harmed during their previous investigation – a reflection of pain, or so it seemed back then. Then it’s back to blue, and Connor’s voice is almost a whisper.

“Yessir.”

And Connor walks past him toward the front door. Sumo whines when the android walks past it without petting him. Hank wants to call him back. Wants to apologize. Wants to say _please stay, I’m a disaster of a person and you are driving me insane, but I want you to stay. _Connor opens the door letting the morning light shine into the living room, and he looks over his shoulder, voice low and eyes cast down.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, lieutenant. I… I’ll just stay over at the precint tonight, as usual. I’ll organize the files for you to take a look when you arrive.” He pauses, and Hank can, he can just ask him to stay but he doesn’t “Goodbye.”

And just like that Connor closes the door behind him with a soft click, sunlight and warmth leaving with him. Hank grabs his head, fingers catching in his tangled bed hair.

“Way to go, you fucking idiot.”

He sits down at the table, staring at the pancakes. There is even a bottle of syrup that Connor most likely bought first thing in the morning. The whole thing offends him to a degree, the idea of Connor bothering to get things to him, to cook for him.

Hank sighs. He has good days, sure, and they sure as fuck have become more frequent since Connor entered his life. But he still has the bad days, and on those he just wishes everyone would leave him alone and let him dig his own grave one bottle at a time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor decides to go back to work to keep his mind busy and finds a lead. Hank realizes he needs his partner. Closing the current case comes to a high price, and something changes in their relationship. Connor hurts in a way he didn't know he was able to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blood, gore and dismemberment in this chapter. Proceed with caution.

Connor keeps searching for new information on the missing androids while simultaneously trying to piece the evidence available together in order to build a profile for their target. Since he can do it all by connecting his mind to the database, he keeps his hands busy with his coin, letting it tumble back and forth over his knuckles.

What had he done wrong? He could swear that on the previous nights he had managed to reach to Hank, to make him open up more. The fact that Hank had even invited him to stay over seemed to reflect that, but all his efforts to make Hank happy seem to have backfired and caused a major drawback in their relationship.

Connor ignores the detectives getting up to their lunch break and coming back from it later, wondering instead how long would it take for Hank to arrive and whether it would be good or bad if they meet. Maybe Hank still wants to be left alone. His brain feels conflicted.

He wants to be close to Hank. But he wants to make Hank happy. Apparently staying away from Connor would make Hank happy. Connor must deny himself his wish to be close to Hank in order to make Hank happy. It should be easy to him, to be content with fulfilling his objective, but the thought of staying away from Hank makes him hurt inside.

He thinks of the day they met after the protests, thinks of the warmth of Hank’s arm, his words. _Come here, my friend._

He would do anything to be in Hank’s arms again, or to hear him asking Connor to come closer.

Connor clenches his fingers over the coin so hard it presses a circular shape to the synthetic skin. Focus. If he can’t be a good friend, he might at least try to be a good cop. It’s the only thing that will allow him to be able to keep seeing Hank, to try and have another try at mending their friendship.

The thought of losing Hank makes the spot in his chest where his wires and cables bundle together feel hollow, empty. It even pushes the air out of his artificial lungs. Connor rubs his eyes, sighing heavily. The sooner he cracks this case, the better. Maybe he can even get it done with without bothering Hank again. All he wants is for Hank not to hate him. _Please, anything but that._

And just like that, he snaps his eyes open, the photographs of the crime scenes overlapping in his mind. The abandoned buildings, the way their locations fit in the map, the outdated android models usually donated to charity or tossed away at the streets. There is a pattern, and Connor feels stupid for overlooking it. He knows where the killer is hiding.

He gets up abruptly, walking past Reed in the hall on his way out.

“Hey plastic, where d’you think you’re going?”

Connor frowns and keeps walking.

“Mind your own business, detective.”

Reed shoots an angry glare at him, goes for Connor.

“The fuck did you just say to me?”

Connor keeps walking, pushing Reed out of his way with a shove of his shoulder. The android is about three times stronger than a regular human of his size, and Reed stumbles back some. Connor has already reached the main entrance when he hears a faint remark from Reed about how he would get back at him for that.

The confrontational display is not very becoming of him, of his programming. He wonders where does his original coding begin and where his deviant personality starts, and which is the real Connor in all of this. Whatever feelings he’s been experiencing for Hank have clearly destabilized him, and Connor wishes he could be set back into his usual self because it makes him **[word search complete]** _ache_ inside, and he wants it to stop. Connor exits the building, noticing how dark the afternoon seems, accessing the forecasting and learning of the heavy showers scheduled for the next twenty minutes and into the rest of the day. He then presses his palm to the reader on one of the cars in the parking lot, entering it as its door slide open for him.

-

He steps out of the self-driving vehicle about thirty minutes later, feeling the soft patter of rain on his head. The place is a condemned building, complete with holographic “do not cross” tape and cracks on the external wall that are large enough to make any sensible person that doesn’t want tons of concrete to crush them dead to think twice before walking in.

Connor crosses the holograms, walking inside. He glances around at the long lobby of the building, wishing the American Androids Act of 2029 had been reformed already, despite what Markus said about them having to take baby steps towards the android’s legal freedom lest they lose everything they’ve achieved so far; having a gun would make this much easier, since he is alone in an unknown territory with no backup.

He looks up to the stairs ahead, since his analysis have deemed an 89% probability of the suspect being at the upper floors. Connor climbs up slowly, eyes trained ahead to then glance down at the blue dotting the steps. Thirium. His suspicions seem to be right. He keeps his voice low as his LED blinks yellow, his brain dialing Hank’s number. He reaches Hank’s voice mail.

“Lieutenant, I’m currently at an unnamed street close to Mack Avenue. It seems to be an abandoned factory where I believe our suspect is hiding. I believe there is no need for backup.”

Connor keeps walking until he reaches the upper floor, which consists of a long hall with its floor partially covered in rust. He avoids the especially darker areas, not knowing if they might collapse under his weight.

He hears a small creaking noise behind him and turns around fast, body quickly shifting into a fighting stance, but there is nothing there. Connor’s LED blinks yellow as he looks around, looking for a threat.

**[Priority: capture target]**

Even his reflexes can’t prepare him for the sudden pain on his right leg that comes along with a loud bang. **[Biocomponent #40828 damaged; mobility impaired] **Connor turns around, supporting most of his weight on his left leg and wincing. The bullet had torn the artificial muscle that would allow his knee to bend, and therefore to walk properly.

**[Priority: Aid DPD in capturing the target]**

Connor sees a man holding his gun and commits every detail about him to memory should he end up **<strike>[deactivated]</strike>** dead. His life doesn’t matter, his duty is more important than anything. He notices the man’s red zip-up hoodie, his white shirt with the android triangle logo crossed and the inscription “we don’t bleed the same color” under it, his dark jeans with a tear over the right pocket. All saved in his memory and promptly sent over to the DPD database. Even if he gets killed now, he’ll still be able to aid the investigation.

**[software instability]**

But he wants to go back to Hank. He wants to see Hank again. He doesn’t want to die. He can’t die.

**[New priority: survive]**

Connor rolls away from the man’s aim, hearing the bullets hitting the large pipe behind which he’s taken cover. He needs to survive, even if this means that the suspect might escape. Going back to Hank matters more than anything. He needs to be able to get back to Hank.

Far down the corridor, he can hear Hank’s voice.

“Connor?”

Shit. Shit. The other man is armed and dangerous, and probably knows the territory better than either of them.

“Lieutenant, he’s got a gun!” Connor screams, hoping to… to RA9, if it really exists that Hank will stay back; he moves out from cover, hoping to draw attention to himself instead of Hank, dropping to his left knee “Call for backup, do not engage!”

He hears Hank’s footsteps thumping up the stairs and curses silently. He looks behind him, to the stairs to see Hank, gun trained on the man farther ahead. Hank only glances at Connor to then look back at the man.

“You’re alright, Connor?” Hank’s voice has so much concern despite the way he seem to try to sound casual

“My knee got damaged. I can’t walk-” he trails off before saying properly, decides to withhold this information from their aggressor; thirium leaks from his wound, seeping through his pants and staining the floor with a rich, deep blue

“What about you, hm?” Hank nods at the suspect “Are you the one who’s been slicing up androids?”

The man keeps his gun pointed at them, giving Hank a shaky smile.

“Androids don’t deserve to live.”

Hank takes a step on the direction of the man, gun still ready to fire.

“Hey, I get it. They’re a pain in the ass. This one follows me everywhere, drives me out of my mind.”

Connor knows the strategy. Keep him talking, gain ground discreetly. Still, every calculated step Hank takes makes the cables in his chest tighten painfully.

“Stay back!”

Hank just chuckles.

“Hey, I’m no android. You’re talking to an 100% red-blooded man. You wouldn’t kill a human, would you?” The man hesitates, eyes transfixed on Hank “They’re crazy, all of them, right? Last thing I heard, they want the right to property! Property! The_ things_ wanna own _things_, can you believe it?”

Hank is almost at arm’s length, almost reaching their target. When he finally gets close enough, he hits the man’s face with his gun, knocking him back. The man dodges Hank’s next strike, grabbing something from his pocket and stabbing Hank’s chest with it. Connor screams, believing it to be a knife, but Hank’s shaking scream lets him know it’s a taser. Hank sinks to his knees still shaking, gun dropping from his fingers, and the man kicks it away from them. Connor tries to make a run for it only to drop down on his chest, unable to walk, and rolling to dodge from another bullet aimed at him.

“Fucking androids ruined my life!” the man yells, discarding the taser and kicking Hank in the stomach; Hank coughs loudly, swearing “My girlfriend left me for an android, my boss fired me to replace me with an android, and now these fuckers want _rights_, but you know what? They won’t get them. Not if I kill them all first.”

Connor sends an “officer down” alert to all units nearby, hoping that any of them take him seriously enough to send backup. The android watches in horror as the man kicks Hank again, walking past him to reach for something on the desk behind him. It looks like some kind of tool, and when the electric whirring fills Connor’s auditory canals, he feels like the wires in his stomach are wrenching.

“Don’t hurt him!” Connor screams, struggling to fix the jagged plastic of his knee in place “I’m the android, if you want to hurt anyone, hurt me!”

And Connor sees the man smile, watching the android struggle to fix his bleeding injury. The man steps on Hank’s arm, prying more swearing from the detective as he moves the whirring tool closer to him.

“Humans are a superior race and traitors of their own kind need to pay for their mistake.”

“STAY AWAY FROM HIM!” Connor screams, slamming his fist against the side of his knee over and over to try and force it into place, even if only for a minute “HANK!”

The scream Hank lets out when the circular saw breaks his skin makes Connor’s thirium feel cold in his artificial veins. The man seems to take no mercy in his unusual target, ignoring the red blood that stains his pants as he supports his weigh on Hank’s arm to keep him in place, digging deeper into his flesh with the tool. Hank screams louder, clearly in shock and unable to defend himself even if he could.

Connor hears the discreet change of noises when the saw reaches bone and starts cutting through it. Hank’s screams just don’t stop and Connor punches his knee again, finally noticing a snap in his joints.

“Don’t worry” the man says patiently, stopping the engine for a moment to fix his grip on the tool “After I’m done with you, I’ll slice the android up as well.”

Hank sucks in one breath, two and makes a gargled noise because he’s most likely choking in his own spit.

“You stay the fuck away from Connor! You stay the fuck-” Hank’s words die out as the saw is turned on again, and he screams louder as if the respite has made it hurt even more

The sudden bang echoes in the empty space, and the man stumbles back, saw dropping on the floor from his fingers as his knee gives way, pierced exactly where he had shot Connor. Hank grabs onto his mutilated arm, tears streaming over the bridge of his nose to then angle his head to look at Connor.

“Connor-”

Connor stalks forward, eyes focused on the other man and gun trained ahead. This man hurt Hank. This man threatened Hank’s life. This man killed several androids and is going to hurt more, and was more than willing to assassinate a police officer. His finger is tense over the trigger.

“Connor, no!” Hank screams hoarsely “We need him alive, we need-”

Connor fires five shots in the man’s chest, all in the fraction of a second. The man stumbles back, wide-eyed, to then collapse with a dull thud.

Connor drops the gun, rushing over to Hank’s side. His knee feels dry, bones grazing together as he kneels, pulling Hank into his arms. He reaches to his own tie, loosening it up with sharp tugs.

“I’ll make a tourniquet. It won’t be pleasant.”

Hank may be laughing, or it might be just a cough.

“Anything will be more pleasant than getting my fucking arm… jesus, this hurts like fuck!” Hank keeps staring at his wounded arm, at the way most of it had been cut off. The thing is a mess of blood and exposed bone and strands of flesh clinging to him like shreds of skin-colored cloth “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit! Fucking hell, Connor!”

Connor agrees silently with every swear word apologizing when he ties his tie on a very tight knot a couple of inches below the wound. His system announces that the requested backup is approaching soon, and he sighs out in relief.

“Backup is arriving soon, Hank. You’ll be fine.” his voice is shaking so much there is a layer of static under it. Hank blinks slowly, still muttering a string of ‘fucks’, and Connor whispers “Diagnosis for Hank Anderson.”

**[active severe blood loss – transfusion needed] **

**[open wound – treatment and disinfection necessary]**

**[structural damage - ulnar and radial arteries compromised]**

**[13% of blood volume lost – emergency care recommended]**

Hank smiles weakly at him, eyes swimming.

“Not lookin’ good, am I?”

Connor runs a hand over Hank’s hair. This is his fault. All his fault. He shouldn’t have called him. He shouldn’t

“You’re looking great as you always do, Hank.” Connor says, forcing himself to smile at Hank to keep him from panicking

Hank blinks more and more slowly, as if he can’t bring himself to keep his eyes open. The lieutenant swallows down, says Connor’s name in a slurred manner before managing to actually speak:

“Connor… Connor listen to me. You did good. You did nothing wrong, ok? I need you to know that.” He grits his teeth, wincing at the pain, forehead creased “And if I die here, it’s okay because I’ll get to see my son again. Been trying to do that for a while…” he blinks again to then let his eyes fall shut at once “I’m gonna miss you though. I’m gonna miss you, Connor.”

**[heartrate below average – risk of cardiac arrest – emergency care needed]**

**[18% of blood volume lost – transfusion needed]**

Connor shakes Hank in his arms, notices how his own sight’s grown blurry to only then feel the cold trails on his face. He’s crying, crying for the first time ever, crying because he can’t afford to lose Hank, can’t live without him. He sobs, shoulders shaking and tears dripping from his chin.

“Hank, stay with me!” he begs, shaking Hank again to no avail; Hank’s eyes remain closed and Connor’s system warns him again and again of the urgency of taking him to an emergency room “Hank! Hank, please, don’t leave me!”

He holds Hank close, feeling Hank’s blood soaking through his shirt and staining it red. Hank had held him in his arms and called him his _friend_ and it made him feel _alive_, and now Hank is in Connor’s arms as he _bleeds out_, and it makes Connor feel like he’s _dying_, wires pulled taut in his chest, tears spilling over and over from his eyes.

**[software instability]**

Connor glances at Hank’s gun dropped close to them. If Hank’s heart ceases to beat, there will be no other purpose left for him. One bullet to his cranial structure will be enough to destroy him.

* * *

When Hank comes to, he wonders how many beers he must’ve had before he wound up with a hungover this bad. His throat feels dry and his entire body feels numbed out. He is probably lying unconscious in his kitchen again. He groans at the thought of having to get up, wash himself and get his hungover ass to the station, but he knows there’s no use in prolonging the inevitable, so he slowly opens his eyes.

He’s not in his kitchen, or his home for that matter. He’s in a room with white walls and a painting of a vase full of flowers hangs in front of the bed he’s lying in. He can feel the uncomfortable needle stuck in his right arm, and glances to his right side to see that yes, there’s a bag of serum hanging up, feeding into the tube that goes into his vein. He sighs, squeezing his eyes for a moment and wondering how bad he must’ve fucked up to end up in the hospital.

He brings his left arm to his face to rub his eyes but ends up smacking himself instead – his arm feels much lighter than usual. He blames the strange sensation on his alleged hangover until he actually looks at his arm, or whatever the fuck that thing attached to the last third of his forearm is.

It looks like his hand, but at the same time, Hank knows it isn’t. The skin tone matches perfectly to his, and there is no line dividing what feels like Hank’s arm and what doesn’t, but he knows. He can tell.

So he wishes to actually understand what the hell is going on, and the skin on his forearm and hand promptly pulls back, revealing clear, white plastic underneath. The sight of it makes him whip his arm away from his face like it could bite him.

“What the fuck?” he groans, tongue feeling too heavy in his mouth

That’s when he hears aggravated voices behind the door.

“…have no authorization to come in-”

“I’m his _partner!_” Hank immediately recognizes Connor’s voice, although the aggressiveness of it sounds strange in the overly polite android’s voice “I need to see him!”

“Listen.” the other voice says with what sounded like a sneer “I know _you people_ think you can do whatever you want now, but we have rules here.”

“You are obstructing a police officer.” Connor’s voice drops to a cold commanding tone, and Hank raises an eyebrow, smirking; what had gotten into him, the sheepish polite boy? “Move out of my way or you will be moved.”

There is a brief moment of silence, then the door swings open and Connor walks in. The way he smiles at Hank, eyebrows arching… Hank believes he’s on the verge of tears, and it makes his heart ache. He is also limping some, although he seems to be trying to disguise it to a degree.

“Hank!” Connor rushes to his bed side, reaches to him to then freeze in place, clearing his throat and straightening himself up, lowering his hands; he seems to be doing his damnest not to hug Hank, and it makes Hank wish he wouldn’t “Hank, I was so worried about you!”

Hank looks at Connor. The android’s shirt has a large red blood stain over his stomach, and the right leg of his pants is torn over Connor’s knee, stained with blue. Connor’s hair isn’t carefully combed to the side as usual, but Connor’s hair is messy and spiked up here and there like he had been running his hand over it, and the white of his eyes is slightly reddened.

“About me?” Hank chuckles, pretty sure he must be high on anesthetics “Shouldn’t you be worried about yourself? You look like shit, Connor.”

Connor lowers his eyes to himself to then look back at Hank.

“I’m fine. My joint connection was” **[shattered]**, his system offers, but he ignores it; it’s not the time to get Hank worried about him “mildly bruised, and the provisory replacement isn’t working very well. The one made to fit my model will arrive later today if the two-day notice is anything to go by.”

Hank nods to then feel the pinch on his brow as he frowns.

“Two-day notice? How long have I been out?”

Connor blinks, hesitating. His tone sounds a bit like his usual goofy too-polite ‘excuse me’ voice, but there’s some hushed restrain in it. Like someone trying to give bad news without hurting someone’s feelings.

“Eighteen hours.”

Hank’s eyes go wide, and he tries to sit up to then wince at the numb feeling on the entire length of his left arm. He sinks back on the angled pillow, frowning at Connor.

“What the fuck…!”

“Six hours yesterday, and today up to now. I- It’s six and five in the afternoon.” Connor adds hastily “It’s not that much, really, considering the blood loss and the surgery. Do not worry about Sumo, I fed him while you were down. The doctors didn’t expect you to be up so soon… Oh.” He pauses, looking over his shoulder for an instant” I should notify them so they can check on you properly.”

“Hey, hey, hey, hold on a goddamn minute. What blood loss? What surgery?”

Connor looks back at him, and his LED blinks red, but the tell-tale sign doesn’t make itself necessary, not with the way Connor’s face is, eyebrows furred and eyes small, lips pressed into a thin line. He looks like he’s been punched to the gut, pain so raw and almost palpable Hank almost apologizes for asking anything out of pity for the android.

“The warehouse, lieutenant. Yesterday, when you arrived to help me. You don’t remember?”

Hank is about to ask what the hell is Connor talking about when the memory hits his still half-drugged self like a ton of bricks.

That lunatic, stepping on his arm and fucking pressing a power saw close to his wrist. Tiny drops of blood spraying on Hank’s arm, much hotter than he anticipated, the horrifying feeling of his flesh being tugged at and shredded; by the time it had hit his bone he was barely even feeling anything, his brain numbing out the sensation to keep him sane. _Shit. Shit!_

Hank glances at his hand, letting a frightened gasp when it closes its fingers on his command.

“Connor.” he asks in what he meant to be a level voice that actually comes out like a shaky plea “What the hell is this thing?”

Connor looks from Hank’s hand to the lieutenant’s eyes, swallowing down.

“That” he says, clearly still attempting to sound like his chipper self and failing miserably “is a thirium-based prosthetic. Top of the line, developed by Cyberlife about two years ago. It can do everything the limb it replaces, it’s easy to maintain and repair and requires little to no time for its user to get used to it. It’s been remarkably usefu-”

“Stop talking like a goddamn advertising and tell me what the fuck is this thing doing on my arm!” Hank demands between gritted teeth, and Connor hesitates, looking down for a few moments before looking back up at Hank

“There… there wasn’t much the surgeon could do to salvage your forearm and hand, lieutenant. The way it was cut off tore your skin and bones in a way that would make the nerves nearly impossible to reconnect, and the risk of infection was too high to take. You would end up with a mangled arm covered in stitch scars that would eventually have to be removed either way.”

The way Connor says it makes Hank’s stomach churn, and he swallows thickly.

“Well, fuck, couldn’t they just leave me with what was left of it instead of shoving plastic on top of it?”

Connor nods, apparently anticipating the question and seeming equally pleased to move from the topic of what was left of Hank’s arm and hand.

“All prosthetic surgery is covered by the universal healthcare system under president Warren’s health care act of 2037, and the prosthetics supplied by cyberlife offer a free trial period of seven days in order for the user to assess whether they’ve adapted to it or not. If you do not wish to keep it, you can replace it with a regular prosthetic or even not replace it with anything at all. If I may give my personal opinion, you should give it a try – its structure is similar to my own limbs, and I have no complaints about them at all.” Connor pauses, glances down at his knee “Well, except when someone manages to shoot me right at their structure.”

Hank doesn’t interrupt Connor through his long explanation, finding some comfort in the usual chatty behavior. At least something has to feel familiar in this weird fuckin’ situation. Hank looks at the hand again, flexes his fingers. It still feels strangely light. His tone is dazed:

“Good thing I’m right-handed, huh?”

-

Connor stares at Hank’s hand. Thirium, plastic and biocomponent veins, just like himself. He doesn’t understand why it makes him feel [word search complete] bitter, but it does. Hank was injured because of him, had a limb _severed_ because of him, and now he’s lying there in a hospital bed, forced to deal with the outcome of it.

A tall woman in a lab coat walks in, closing the door behind her. Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun that says her shift has been longer than she wanted it to be.

“Hello, mr. Anderson. And I assume this is the ‘Connor’ of whom nurse Lane was complaining about?”

Connor’s feels his face hot with embarassment, and he murmurs quietly:

“I, uh. I should go.”

Hank’s right hand shoots up to grab at Connor’s wrist, and Connor freezes at that, soft gasp escaping his lips. Hank is sitting up, wincing a bit, but he holds him still.

“No.” Hank says it like an order, than he eases his grip on Connor’s wrist “No, stay. Please.”

Connor looks back at Hank over his shoulder, and his brain doesn’t provide a single word for him to say so he just nods. Hank lets go off him and Connor awkwardly shuffles away from the bed to give the doctor space to work as she checks the bag of serum that hangs, loosening the dripping mechanism to make it go down faster.

“Mr. Anderson, I’m doctor Rivera. Your surgery was a success, no sign of infection or any complication. You can stay over one more day under observance, but you will be cleared out to go as soon as we’re done hydrating you. Do you wish to know anything about your new prosthetic?”

Hank stares back at the doctor like she’s speaking another language. He squints, looks at his hand and back at her.

“Yeah, sure.” He sighs out “How the hell am I able to move it?”

“The electrical impulses from your brain make your muscles move. The electricity can communicate with your prosthesis’ artificial muscles, that are linked to your biological ones via nanotechnology, so any command to move your fingers, make a fist, etc. will reach it in the same time it reaches a non-prosthetic hand.”

Hank is still squinting in a way that makes Connor almost able to hear him grumble ‘in English, please’.

“Okay, uh... can I wash my hands, or will water mess it up? Can I still hold my gun? Can I feel pain through this thing or I might just slam my car door on top of my fingers and only notice it when I try to walk away?”

The doctor smiles with a hint of amusement.

“You can do anything you would previously do with your biological hand, mr. Anderson. The prosthesis has sensors for pressure, pain, excessive heat and excessive cold. It has digits and creases that will allow you to notice textures with the same sensitivity of your biological hand, if not more.”

Hank shakes his head, and Connor wonders what he must be thinking right now – he’s hated androids for a long time, and now he has to deal with a third of his arm and his hand looking like an android’s. It probably displeases him, to say the least.

“Fine.” Hank says with a nod, although his expression says anything but ‘fine’ “What about the weird thing when my skin comes off and it gets all… white and shiny blue?”

“That’s so that you can alter your skin if you want to. Several users felt uncomfortable with the sight of clear skin where there had been tattoos or scars that were already familiar, so if you have anything you’d like to replace, please try to find as many reference photos of it as you can and send them over to Cyberlife so that they can create a perfect replication of it to layer over your prosthetic. Is that all, mr. Anderson?”

Hank runs his flesh hand over his face.

“I guess?”

“Good,” the doctor says, taking the file hanging from the end of Hank’s bed and opening it “Because we need to talk about your unhealthy habits. Your previous exams make it clear that you not only have been avoiding regular checkups aside from your monthly drug tests for the police department, but also that there is strong evidence of an excessive intake of alcohol.”

Hank sinks back into the pillows.

“Oh for Christ’s sake…”

“You are not a twenty-year-old anymore, mr. Anderson.”

“Lieutenant.”

Connor immediately recognizes the dry, rude behavior he had encountered when he and Hank had first met. The doctor seems not to let it get to her.

“Fine, lieutenant Anderson, your liver isn’t having the best time under your heavy drinking, and neither are your kidneys. The consequences of this excessive amount of alcohol, on what I assume is a daily basis, could be long-lasting if not permanent.”

Hank rolls his eyes, staring up at the ceiling.

“Doctor, I got here over a fucked-up arm. Thank you for un-fucking it…” he raises an eyebrow at his prosthesis “Well, thank you for doing your best to un-fuck it. Everything else is none of your goddamn business.”

The doctor presses her lips together and sighs, closing Hank’s file.

“What you’re doing might cost you your life, lieutenant.”

Hank lowers his eyes from the ceiling to stare right at the doctor.

“Yep.”

The doctor creases her forehead.

“There are people that can help you, lieutenant. I’ll bring you a flyer for you to take home before you leave, okay?”

“Don’t bother.”

The doctor sighs, looks at Connor.

“Mister, uh…?”

Connor blinks, prying his eyes from Hank to look at the doctor.

“‘Connor’ is fine, doctor.”

“May I have a little word, Connor?”

Connor looks at Hank, and Hank shrugs with an expression that clearly says ‘whatever’ Connor follows the doctor out of the room, and they stop by the door after shutting it behind them.

“You’re his…?” she asks quietly

“His partner.”

The doctor nods.

“Well, take care of him if you can. There’s nothing sadder than treating a patient that doesn’t want to live.”

The doctor excuses herself, and Connor’s LED blinks yellow as his brain processes the information. He walks back into the room to see Hank flexing his new fingers over and over with a focused expression.

“She told you to keep an eye on me, didn’t she?”

“In a way.” Connor answers gingerly, and Hank tuts

“Listen, I say we leave now” Hank rips the bandage covering the place where the needle enters his vein with a hiss “I wanna get out of this place already.”

Connor winces at the way the parts of his knee grind together as he marches up to Hank.

“No, you have to stay in this bed. Hydration is important to keep the thirium flow in your prosthetic running smoothly, besides you need to dilute the drugs in your system.”

“I don’t give a shit about that.” Hank says, tossing his legs to the side of the bed and sitting up, letting them dangle down “I need to leave, now.”

Connor grabs Hank’s arm where it’s still flesh and red blood to stop him from trying to rip the needle off his arm.

“You need to stay down, lieutenant!”

“I fucking hate hospitals, Connor!” Hank manages through gritted teeth “I can’t stay here, I can’t, so please…!”

Connor’s hand slides down to Hank’s prosthesis, over his wrist, and the synthetic flesh there recedes, revealing the stark white underneath.

_And suddenly Connor is there, in the too-white corridor with the too-white lights, watching as the man dressed in blue scrubs with small red stains over his stomach looks at him and tell him they’ve tried all they could, but the wounds were too deep and I’m so sorry but your son didn’t make it and there’s the noise of a woman shrieking and dropping down to her knees beside him, wailing my boy, my little boy and Connor/Hank’s heart is shattering, he was only six, he was only six years old, this isn’t right this isn’t fair. The doctor standing in front of him offers his condolences, blue LED on his temple and bright blue armband marking him an android. Connor/Hank grits his teeth so hard he can hear bone grinding in his skull._

_-_

_Hank doesn’t know how he’s got in the snowy landscape he’s at, but he doesn’t have time to assess his surroundings before he notices a woman standing in front of him. She’s dressed in an elegant kimono, a white necklace contrasting with her dark skin and her braided hair pulled up into a complex bun._

_“You are the first RK-800 model to be tested. Your purpose is to aid the Detroit Police Department in their hunt for deviant androids. I demand your loyalty, efficiency and unquestionable obedience. Like every android, you are a machine made to obey. I expect nothing but perfection from you.”_

_Hank/Connor feels… nothing. No. He feels a need to follow the command, to see it done. Yes. To follow orders… this is all he was made for. He can be useful. He can prove he’s the perfect deviant hunter._

_“I won’t fail you, Amanda.” his mouth says_

_And every corner of his mind where thoughts and aspirations should be feels smothered by a single command that falls heavily over them like a blanket – obey._

Hank pulls his hand back, and so does Connor. He’s back in the hospital room, with the needle poking at his arm and the artificial skin over his weird new hand slowly covers the white plastic underneath it again.

Hank and Connor stare at each other, their hands still in the air. Connor’s breathing seem to be as shallow as Hank’s own, and Hank stares at the wide brown eyes.

“What the hell was that?! What was that place?!”

Connor’s eyes dart back and forth, his LED pulsing yellow non-stop before finally settling on blue.

“I… I believe there’s a… compatibility between your prosthetic and my biocomponents.” Connor swallows down, and Hank watches as he clearly struggles to slow down his breathing “It’s… unexpected, but not risky.”

Hank is still reeling, rubbing his face with his prosthesis. He finally got the hang of it well enough to not just smack himself on the face with it again.

“Who the fuck is Amanda? Why is she such a major bitch? And why was she in my head just now?!”

Connor freezes for an instant, voice going very quiet all of a sudden, and if Hank’s not seeing things his LED goes red for an instant.

“Did you see Amanda?” and the way he looks at Hank’s eyes… that look is fear, clear as daylight “What did she say?”

Hank just stares at Connor for a moment, poking his tongue against his cheek and shrugging.

“Some shit about you being the first RK-800 to be tested or whatever, that you owed her your undying loyalty, blah, blah, blah. And that...” Hank trails off, swallowing down; he doesn’t want to repeat the part where she said Connor is a machine made to obey “That was all.”

Connor stares back at him to then lower his eyes.

“…Oh.”

There is silence, long and uncomfortable. Hank scratches the itchy spot where the adhesive on the fold of his arm had been.

“What about you?” he asks, voice quiet “Did you see something too?”

-

Connor doesn’t look up at Hank. He doesn’t think he can bring himself to.

“No. I didn’t see anything.”

**[software instability]**

Fuck, lying to Hank makes his cables wrench in his chest.

“You’re lying to me, Connor.” Hank’s voice reaches his ear in the same quiet way, and Connor still looks at the white tile floor like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever laid his eyes on in his entire life “What’d you see?”

Connor clicks his tongue to then grit his teeth together. Hank sighs.

“You saw Cole, didn’t you?”

Connor squeezes his eyes shut, shakes his head.

“The surgeon.” he manages in a tiny voice “I’m sorry.”

Connor doesn’t think he can stand to stay there any longer, not with the way his chest feel tight enough to constrict his breathing, his throat feeling too tight, his fingers trembling. Too many emotions crashing together in his system **[grief] [empathy] [loss] [pain] [guilt].**

“I’m gonna… Gonna leave you alone.” Connor manages, turning on his heels and walking to the door

“Connor, no.” Hank calls, voice sounding a tad strangled “Connor, I don’t want you to!”

“But I need to.” Connor pulls the door open “I’m sorry.”

“Con-”

Connor lets the door fall shut behind him and just starts walking aimlessly down the corridor, walks past busy counters and waiting rooms until he finds a mostly deserted spot by a vending machine. The android leans against it, letting his shoulder drag on the side of the thing until he’s sitting on the floor.

His sight is blurry again, and he brings his hand to his face to then feel the wet trails over his cheeks. A sob makes his shoulders shake, and he buries his face in his hands, sobbing again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *turns what should be a tiny fluff fic in a gore fest*


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor asks for an opening, and Hank allows him one. It's up to the two of them where to go from there.

Connor doesn’t really notice as the time goes by; Fowler had ordered that both he and Hank took at least ‘one goddamn week’ to nurse themselves back to health, especially since they’ve managed to find the man the media dubbed the ‘Android Slayer’, so there was no urgency to get back to the station.

But Connor doesn’t really have a home, not apart from the Cyberlife tower where he still can’t bring himself to feel comfortable at. So he stays curled in place, knees pulled close to his chest as he sighs heavily, finally able to control his crying to a degree when he notices a shadow drop over him from his left and hears Hank’s voice over him.

“Get up, Connor. We’re going home.”

And Connor looks up to see Hank, dressed in his striped shirt and dark jeans along with his grey coat, the change of clothes that Connor had brought him the day before – he figured that Hank wouldn’t want the shirt and coat that had been destroyed and stained with blood in the fight. Connor just stared at him, eyes flickering to his prosthetic hand, a perfect imitation of his original one. Connor clears his throat, but his voice comes hoarse still.

“You’ve… You’ve been discharged?”

Hank twists his lips in a lopsided smile like he's thinking about the answer.

“I may have bullied them into discharging me.”

Connor offers Hank a small smile even if he doesn’t feel like smiling.

“That’s good. Are you okay?”

Hank nods, scratching his nose.

“Yeah, I mean. Most of me is okay. This…” he indicates his prosthesis “This might still take a while getting used to. M’not sure I’m gonna keep it.”

Connor nods shyly.

“I understand.”

“What part of ‘get up, we’re going home’ did you miss, Connor? Or are you busy gossiping with the vending machine or something?”

Connor doesn’t force another smile.

“I know I upset you, lieutenant. You don’t have to take me back to your place if you don’t want to.”

Hank scratches the back of his head, pressing his lips together to then kneel down so that he’ll be on Connor’s eye level.

“Look, Connor…” his piercing blue eyes are there again, haunting Connor, making his thirium pump work faster, his chest feel too full “I’m not… I’m not an easy person. I’m not gonna lie to you, I’m an ass. Everybody knows it, and that’s why they keep away from me, because no one can stand me.”

“I can.” Connor says almost in defiance; if this is a challenge, he knows he’s more than up to it “I can stand you, Hank. I just don’t know what to do when you push me away, but I’ll learn! Cyberlife made me the most adaptable model ever created, I can always improve my way to interact with you!”

Hank chuckles softly, and the sound makes Connor thankful that he’s sitting down because it would’ve make him weak at his already damaged knee.

“Here’s the deal, Connor, that’s not how friendship works. You can’t just bend and break over my shit. You have to hold me accountable and call me out on it when I’m being an ass.”

Connor thinks, LED blinking yellow.

“Whenever I do try to hold you accountable, you seem to push me further away.”

Hank nods.

“Yeah, uh. That was my other point, I’m… I’m gonna try to keep an eye on that. I can’t promise it’s gonna be smooth sailing, but I won’t quit without trying. Will you?”

Connor shakes his head vehemently.

“No, lieutenant.”

Hank nods and gives him a smile that makes the corners of his eyes crease a bit.

“Now cut the ‘lieutenant’ crap. You know you can call me Hank.”

Hank gets up to his feet, holding his left hand down to Connor.

“Need help up with the knee?”

“Yes, please.” Connor says, absently taking Hank’s hand.

-

Connor sees it. He sees the way Hank looks at him, sees it through Hank’s eyes, the way it makes Hank’s heart hammer in his chest, his eyes trailing over every mole and freckle over his cheeks to then drift down to the soft pink of his lips and then up to get lost at his brown eyes, thinking over and over about how he wishes to hold him closer, to have him always there close to him, to touch him, to kiss him..

And Hank sees it, although it feels completely absurd. The way Connor watches him, every smile, the cadences of his voice, the way he runs a hand over his beard when he’s thoughtful, and he can feel Connor’s wish for closeness, for his touch, for his warmth. How he stumbles into more and more feelings of longing and wanting and drowns in them with every passing day…

Hank’s still holding Connor’s hand when the two of them find themselves back into their own consciousness, skin of their hands slowly moving back into place. Hank lets go of Connor’s hand, the two of them staring at each other with wide eyes, Connor’s LED blinking yellow over and over, and hell, Hank can’t help but stumble back before remembering how to keep his legs in place.

Connor’s been feeling that way… for him? For the _disgraced police lieutenant with too many disciplinary charges and a drinking problem of which he’s fully conscious but does nothing to stop, the man everyone avoids at the precint, the one that let himself go because who would ever want a wreck like him_? And Connor, beautiful, smart, perfect in every way Connor wants _him_, when he could most likely get anyone with a thing for hot, smart men with a circular LED on their forehead?

He needed time to process that. Time and a lot of booze.

“Let’s” he stops, swallowing down and trying not to sound like he’s got a tennis ball stuck his throat “Let’s go then? Home? Let’s?”

Connor stares at Hank with his lips parted, quiet bewilderment in his face. Wait. If Hank managed to see Connor’s feelings, then Connor probably…

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“C’mon, Connor, let’s get a move on already.” He turns his back on Connor, giving a hard big nope on any attempt that Connor might make at mentioning the subject “You can drive, I hope? I’m not trusting this weird goddamn hand yet, is all I’m saying.”

In the end, Connor doesn’t mention anything about seeing himself through Hank’s eyes, but that doesn’t stop Hank from mulling over it all the way back home, especially knowing that Connor is attracted to him.

The law enforcement android sent to work with him when he hated all androids ended up becoming his best – his only friend – and now they’re both into each other. Not your most creative chick-flick writer could come up with a story this absurd.

When they arrive, Hank pats Sumo’s head as he whines, walking in circles around them to welcome them home. Ok, better start working on the whole ‘try not to be an ass’ thing already.

“Uh, Connor.” He says as he sheds his coat, tossing it on the couch and turning to look at Connor “About the pancakes, I… Look, I ate them all up, they were great, and I’m really sorry about the way I-”

“I’m in love with you, Hank.”

Hank stares at the brown eyes, the parted lips letting out short, sharp breaths, and he can’t quite believe what he’s just heard.

-

Connor flashes his tongue over his lips, not understanding why his mouth feels dry every time he thinks of how much he wants to touch Hank, to feel him close.

“I cross-referenced every physical and mental input that you make me experience, and I can’t come across any definition other than that.” he explains, voice cracking a bit at the last word “I’m in love with you, Hank. I-I want to be always close to you, to make you happy, to be the one that makes you happy. I understand that these statements may make you uncomfortable, but I can’t remain silent any longer because it _hurts._”

Hank stares at him wide-eyed, shaking his head.

“Look, Connor, I won’t say that I’m not flattered, because I am but…” Hank pauses, running a hand over his own face “Just look at me. I’m a 53-year-old drunk, shitty cop that has twenty, maybe thirty years more to live, tops, if I stop fucking shit up.” And his face shifts from disgust to a wide smile, even if his eyes look sad “And you… you’re wonderful. You’re kind, you have your morals set straight, you’re a good man that can live… about a hundred years, maybe even forever if you do the whole conscience transferring thing.”

Connor listens to Hank’s argument, acknowledges it to then frown, taking a step closer to the lieutenant.

“What’s your point?”

Hank doesn’t move from where he is, bringing his hand to his forehead.

“What’s my point?! Jesus, Connor, you can have literally anyone else, and you’re gonna-”

Connor takes another step closer. He’s at arm’s length now, close enough to hold Hank if he wants to. And he wants to, but he holds himself back, voice filled with determination.

“I don’t want anyone else, Hank. I want you.”

Hank lets his hand drop down, shaking his head, eyes wide with one question written all over his face.

“Why, Connor? I-I don’t get it, why?”

Connor smiles, soft and undeniably happy, eyes brimming. He brings a hand to Hank’s face, runs his fingers gently form Hank’s temple to his cheek, cupping it softly. Hank stills to then lean into the touch, expression still questioning, still trying to understand.

“Do you love me Hank?”

Hank looks away from Connor, voice merely a murmur.

“You saw it, didn’t you? You saw it all. You know it.”

Connor strokes his thumb over Hank’s cheekbone, voice shaking.

“I need you to say it. Please, Hank, I need to know…”

-

And when Connor asks him that in that small voice that made the law enforcement android sound like the weakest, most fragile thing in the word, how could he deny him? He sighs heavily, feeling the warmth of Connor’s touch on his face and lowering his gaze to meet Connor’s.

“I love you, Connor. I do.”

And he decides, in that moment, that he won’t be constantly standing still, waiting for Connor to go to him or pushing him away whenever he got too close. Instead he takes a step ahead, closing the distance between them and dipping his face to kiss Connor.

Connor lets out a small noise through his nose, hands moving to cup Hank’s face, fingers moving to reach at the back of Hank’s neck. Hank placed a hand on Connor’s waist and another over the dark brown hair, pulling him closer. Connor’s lips are soft and warm and perfect, synthetic saliva mingling with Hank’s own as he opens up to kiss Connor deeper.

It’s awkward like any other first kiss – Connor stands too still, clearly trying to learn from Hank’s movements, unable to keep their teeth from bumping together on occasion, and Hank chuckles softly to ease him into it, to dispel any sense of being wrong or awkward.

-

**[thirium pump activity elevated]**

Yes, he can tell from the way the rhythm of it seem to ring in his ears like the drums of Hank’s favorite heavy metal band. Connor doesn’t close his eyes at first, too surprised to react, but then his eyelids flutter shut on instinct. There so much to be felt, everywhere - Hank’s beard, scratching gently against Connor’s chin every time Hank opens and closes his mouth; the way Connor only manages to breathe very slowly only to remain breathless; how Hank’s wet lips feel perfect against his own, how warm it feels.

When Hank pushes his tongue tentatively between Connor’s lips and against Connor’s own, he feels like his brain’s circuits are overheating. He moves his own tongue, pressing slightly against Hank’s and he can feel his humming noise vibrating over his lips.

He wants more, needs more – and that’s why he can’t understand why Hank pulls back, caressing his face like he had done to Hank himself before they kissed.

“I’m sorry for the way I acted since we met.” Hank says earnestly, and his lips are wet as he flashes his tongue over them “I’m sorry.”

Connor looks at Hank’s blue eyes, sees the pain in them. Hank’s breath is warm over Connor’s lips, they’re so close it’s hard to keep Hank’s face from blurring in and out of focus.

“I’m not… I’m not easy to deal with, and I don’t think…” Hank bites his own lip “I don’t think it’s fair to you. You deserve better.”

Connor drags his hand from Hank’s shoulder to then place it over the lieutenant’s chest. He can feel Hank’s heartbeat, can tell it’s going at a much higher rate than usual and smiles softly, glad to know he’s bringing this response from him.

“I don’t want better, Hank.” Connor says, brows slightly furred “I want you. I love- love you.”

Hank lets out a sharp breath, eyes widening.

“But why?” he insists

Connor offers him a half-shrug, still captivated by his eyes, lost in the clear blue of them.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t make any sense of it. Wanting things, wishing for them… it’s all too new to me. It’s scary.” he admits, pulling away some so that he can look at Hank properly, drawing his hand back “I… Sometimes I miss having clear orders, clear directives so that I can act on them and not think about how I feel. It becomes overwhelming. The woman you saw, Amanda… she would tell me what to do and I would never question her because whenever I did, my software would become unstable and it scared me so much, I-”

Hank watches him intently, listens to him. Connor pauses for a moment, lowers his eyes, and Hank speaks in a low tone that feels warm and [word search complete] gentle.

“Go on, Connor. It’s okay.”

Connor looks back at Hank, and it feels like his throat is tightening. He breathes through his mouth despite it not being the proper way to do so.

“My software would become unstable whenever I looked at you… whenever you smiled at me, whenever you were” he swallows down “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’ve never had so much trouble to speak up before, I’m trying-”

Hank raises his hands, voice still gentle.

“Calm down, Connor. It’s okay if you don’t wanna talk about it.”

-

Connor’s LED is blinking red, and Hank knows it means Connor is uncomfortable, if not hurt. Connor shakes his head, swallows down. Jesus, he looks so… human. All the well-known signs of someone opening up after keeping things for themselves for too long, Hank knows them from interrogations, when someone finally starts spilling their story and can’t bring themselves to stop because the relief that washes over them for letting it out is too overwhelming.

“Freedom scares me.” Connor finally admits, face pained and breath a bit shallow “I wanted it, I helped the deviants, and I achieved it, but it scares me. Making my own choices, wishing for things, it’s… too much. Except…” Hank waits, and nothing could’ve prepared him for what Connor says next, LED turning soft blue again “except when I’m with you. When I’m with you, nothing’s scary. I want to be with you, Hank, to make you happy. It’s all I want, and it doesn’t scare me. It feels… safe.”

And holy shit, if that doesn’t make Hank’s heart jump in his chest.

Still, he’s an android. Connor’s an android, his whole life he was made to obey and please his masters, like a slave. Humanity’s slave. Hank brings his hand to Connor’s face, gently touches his knuckles to his cheek. He’s so soft and warm, and he leans into the touch, eyes fluttering shut.

“You shouldn’t only want to make me happy, Connor.” Hank murmurs with a shake of his head “What about making yourself happy?”

Connor opens his eyes, looks right up into Hank’s. He can swear those brown eyes are drawing him in, mesmerizing him.

“I believe that making you happy would make me happy.” He frowns just so slightly, LED blinking yellow “Would that be selfish of me?”

Hank can’t stop the chuckle that draws out of him, shaking his head. Unbelieavable. His heart is pounding in his chest and a warm feeling spreads all over it. He’s in love, goddamn it, after all those years, after all the shitshow that his life has become there he is, grinning like an idiot in front of the man he’s been crushing on for at least a year, maybe more.

“I don’t think so.” He murmurs with a half-smile “Would I be selfish for wanting to make you happy?” Connor opens his mouth to answer, then Hank gently places his finger over his lips, silencing him “No, Connor. You’re not being selfish.”

Hank then pulls Connor closer, presses his forehead to Connor’s; the proximity is good and somehow uncomfortable in the same measure. If Connor thinks this is what makes life less scary, Hank believes this is the scariest thing he’s ever done. Allowing himself the closeness, the emotional opening, it all feel so absurd. He’s undeserving of it, he knows it. Besides, Connor could realize at any point that yes, he does deserve better, and just leave him. He doesn’t think he would stand the heartbreak, the loss. Hank’s gone through enough loss for a lifetime, and opening his heart for someone that might leave him as well is terrifying.

So he decides to break the mood, at least for him to be able to breathe some, to assimilate the whole thing.

“Just one thing… do androids ever brush their teeth or did just I kiss one year worth of crime scene blood?”

Connor seems thoughtful for a second.

“You are joking.”

Hank tuts.

“Damn it, you know me too well.”

Connor smiles softly, combing his fingers through Hank’s hair.

“I try. And, if you must know, I sterilize my mouth after every sampling so it won’t affect the next one.”

Hank nods slightly, still touching his forehead to Connor’s.

“You’re so goddamn weird. Maybe that’s why I…”

But then it’s Connor who tips his chin up, kissing Hank. Hank stiffens for a moment to then ease into the touch, hands cupping Connor’s jawline as he melts into the kiss. Connor’s become much more skilled at it now, lips parting further as he tilts his head to the side. He hums softly, and the sound vibrates against Hank’s lips making him groan in response. His head is spinning and his knees are threatening to give.

Hank places his hands over Connor’s chest, gingerly pulling away. Connor still chases his lips for a moment before standing in place. His cheeks are tinted with blue, and his lips glisten with moisture, slightly redder than the usual light pink.

Hank slowly sinks down on the couch and Connor’s eyes go wide for a moment; Hank can tell he’s been checking his vitals or something.

“You need rest.” he states, eyes darting back and forth “Hank, I’m sorry, I-”

Hank shakes his head and immediately regrets it, as it doesn’t help his dizziness.

“Hey, don’t say you’re sorry right after kissing me” he squints “M’fine, just need a beer and I’ll be peachy.”

“You are not allowed to drink while on recover.” Connor states flatly

“C’mon, Connor-”

Connor’s eyes narrow on him, and Hank’s pretty sure that’s the glare he keeps exclusively for his targets, because all the softness in him is gone and he looks almost threatening.

“I will not allow you to consume alcohol for at least the following week. Are we clear?”

Hanks frowns at him, licking his lips. He can still taste Connor on them.

“Connor.” he says in a level tone, feeling the pinch of his brow creasing “Don’t start pushing my buttons.”

Connor places his hands behind his back, looking at Hank from above as he stands in front of him.

“You said it yourself, Hank. I don’t have to cater to your needs, I need to act on my interest. My interest is to keep you healthy. To a degree.” He adds to then sit down beside Hank “Thank you in advance for your cooperation.”

Hank is gritting his teeth, but the last bit makes him laugh against his will. He thinks of the last time he heard Connor say that, thinks of the state in which Connor found him then. Drunk, passed out with a loaded gun next to his head.

“You’re such a pain in the ass.” but there’s no venom in his voice; he nods “Fine. One week.”

Connor gives him a smile, and damn it if it isn’t the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

“Instead of indulging in your drinking, we could find something else to do. What do you usually do in your free time?”

Hank raises an eyebrow.

“I indulge in my drinking.”

Connor blinks.

“Oh. We need to think of something else, then.”

“Or you could let me have one beer? Please?” Connor’s frown is enough to shut him up, and Hank sighs “Ok, ok. You got any ideas?”

Connor’s expression eases out, his shoulders relaxing.

“You could tell me about you. Your stories, your life in the force, your hobbies.”

Hank scratches his beard, shakes his head.

“Don’t you know everything there is to know already? I thought you did your little research.”

Connor places his hand over Hank’s on the couch, eyes earnest.

“I don’t know _everything_. I wish I did, though.”

Hank doesn’t pull his hand away. Instead, he brings his prosthetic one over Connor’s hesitating before using it to grab his. He interlocks his fingers with Connor’s, looking at their hands to then look at Connor’s face, to his wide eyes and tinted blue cheeks.

“I… I don’t think you do, Connor. It’s not- My life, the way I got here, it’s not a clean, pretty story.”

Connor returns his gaze with such intensity it almost hurts. His voice is low, almost a whisper.

“Neither is mine, Hank.”

Hank looks at their hands again for a moment.

“Why aren’t you doing that thing… the thing you do when your hand goes white?”

“I won’t look into your mind without your permission.” Connor replies in the same soft tone

“But you want to know.” Hank insists “Don’t you? Why don’t you just look?”

“Because…” Connor squints some, like he’s trying to explain something obvious “Because I know what it feels like to have your mind forcibly opened, and I could never do this to you.”

Hank lets out a sharp sigh. Empathy, the mark of a deviant. The same thing that made Connor spare those two girls at the Eden club, the thing that made him allow the AX400 ‘Kara’ escape with the kid, that made him save Hank from falling off that ledge, from getting shot by that other RK-800 at the Cyberlife tower.

Connor is so good. So kind-hearted. Does he, Hank, even deserve him? He draws a breath… Connor is giving him the right to choose. It’s time he paid back the courtesy.

“Fine. Take a look, if you want to.” Hank wishes his skin away, and it promptly does so, pulling back to reveal the stark white and glowing blue underneath; he tightens his grip on Connor’s hand “Connor. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. We were friends before this. I’ll be okay if you want to go back to just being friends.”

He won’t, he thinks. It’ll leave him shattered, but he has no right to guilt Connor into keeping him by saying that, so he lies.

It hurts, lying to Connor.

-

Connor mouth drops open when Hank offers him a chance to look into his mind, and he swallows down.

“Are you sure about this, Hank?”

“Do it before I change my mind.” Hank grumbles with a nod and the smallest smile

So Connor allows his skin to pull back, plastic white of his palm pressed to Hank’s, and the thirium underneath it glows brighter as he closes his eyes, allowing their minds and hearts to connect.

_He sees Hank’s childhood, sees the tender mother that raised him alone in south Detroit. Feels her love through Hank’s memories, the way she kisses his scrapped knees and playground bruises. He sees Hank’s school days, his good grades on most subjects, the way his heart flutters when he first kisses a girl under the bleachers, the way it hurts when she starts dating someone else. He sees Hank in the first year of the police academy, focused and easily drawing attention from his superiors, appointed by many of them as a rookie with a brilliant future ahead. He sees Hank meeting a friend from the academy for drinks to more than once wind up in his bed, soft kisses and hasty hands undressing the both of them. He watches said friend tell him they should stop seeing each other, and he feels Hank’s hurt._

_Time passes in a blur, and Connor/Hank walks into a vinyl store at the edge of the city, one that proudly announces that it’s the last place to sell ‘real music’ on an old, worn-out sign. Connor/Hank’s reaches for a specific vinyl and his hand bumps onto someone else’s. It’s a blonde woman, dressed in a red dress that looks so intense and vivid in the memory, probably due to the way with which Hank’s heart rate increases at the sight of her. He sees the way they talk, how they joke about wanting the same vinyl and how they could maybe get together to listen to it._

_Connor/Hank holds her hand about a year later, feel the warm sensation of being home, of being happy. He reaches for his pocket and gets down on one knee, heart hammering in his chest. Things blur together, time passing by, sentences reaching Connor’s ear one after the other._

_“Will you marry me?”_

_-tears, a golden ring, a kiss-_

_“-toast to Hank Anderson, who is officially off the market, sorry ladies...”_

_-laughter, pats on his back, a house-_

_“I’m pregnant!”_

_-fear, joy, excitement-_

_“She’s very weak… There is nothing left to do but wait. I’m sorry.”_

_-emptiness, ‘Amelia Anderson, loving mother’ written on stone, sorrow-_

_“It’s a boy!”_

_\- amazement, happiness, devotion –_

_The baby in his arms feels so small, so fragile. Connor/Hank makes a promise to himself that he will protect him with his life. The baby grows so fast, in the memories. Soon he walks, talks, has a laughter that makes the world look brighter. There are bicycle rides in the park with his wife and son, there are sunny days with ice creams and movie theaters, there are gloomy days with rain and nursing a nasty flu, where his boy coughs and sneezes. All sorts of days, in a time that feels endless and too short in the same measure._

_Then there’s a road, on a cold winter day. Connor/Hank is behind the wheel of Hank’s car, driving it over a sheet of ice on the asphalt. He can notice the way the wheels have little traction, how the smallest movement almost makes him skid on every curve. He glances over the mirror, sees his son smile in the reflection and smiles back at him. There’s a truck coming in the opposite direction in the other lane, a tad too fast to be safe for this weather; the headlights are bright, approaching fast, and the massive vehicle skids, tires screeching._

_Connor/Hank’s body goes rigid as he jerks the wheel to avoid the crash. He almost manages to, but it still hits the left side of his hood, meeting it with a deafening slamming noise as over eleven tons of merciless steel crashes against Hank’s car, the momentum making the wheels on his side leave the asphalt._

_Connor/Hank’s sight spins along with the rear window’s view, the safety belt digging painfully over his shoulder while his neck whips back and forth with the impact. The car finally lands on the snowy patch under the side of the road, still rolling one more time before smashing against something solid._

_Everything hurts, and his body is still rigid with tension, but something else demands his attention. It reminds Connor of his directive alerts. Connor/Hank turns around, neck hurting so much he screams._

_“Cole… Cole!”_

_Cole is still on his seat, the seatbelt kept him from being flung off his seat on impact, so he must be safe, he must… Connor/Hank notices the blood trailing down the boy’s nose, his eyes closed. No no no no no…_

_More blurring moments. Hank/Connor look from the grinning doctor in a white coat to the nurse standing by him._

_“We only have one other surgeon available, he’s an android. Your son needs urgent care, but who will perform the operation is up to you.”_

_Hank sees the red dust caking the doctor’s left nostril. The lieutenant knows what that thing can do to one’s perception of reality, he is the head of the damn task force trying to wipe that garbage off the streets. He accepts it, and places his son’s life in the android’s hands._

_The memories blur again, and Hank stands in front of a grave under the pouring rain. Many flowers have been placed over the wet stone, and a small teddy bear, darkened and soaked with rainwater, remains close to the inscription “Cole Anderson”._

_It feels like something is shattering inside Connor/Hank, something that can’t be fixed._

_From then on, there are silent nights where he works after hours again and again. Too many visits to the neighboring bars. The taste of whiskey, too strong and bitter until it becomes familiar, until he starts ordering it neat so it’ll go to his head faster, so it’ll numb him out harder. There are never-ending arguments whenever he’s home, his wife begging him to join her in therapy, telling him she can smell the booze in his breath. There are suitcases by the door. There are tears, and begging, and Connor/Hank feels whatever bond that linked Hank to his wife being stretched thin until it snaps apart. He kisses her forehead wishes her luck. She leaves, he walks back into the kitchen to down an entire bottle of vodka, spends the best part of the early morning puking his guts out in the toilet._

_He gets into a bar brawl. Forgets to properly fill his paperwork. Punches a coworker. Learns the momentary fulfilment of gambling. Gets into another bar brawl. Starts arriving much later for work because of the hangovers. Looks at a picture of his son every night. Presses the gun to his chin, can’t bring himself to pulling the trigger. Hates himself for wanting to kill himself. Hates himself for not having the balls to actually do it. It becomes a cycle. _

_His colleagues laugh at him behind his back, he knows it. But the department can’t fire him because he’s still a great detective, despite everything. He can’t quit because he needs this to feel like he’s got any impact on the world at all. It’s also a cycle._

_He meets Connor, hates him, loathes him, because how dare they force him to work with one of these blue-blooded things, things like the one that failed to save his son? But Connor endures him, endures his shitty personality and his shitty behavior, and he acts out of the expected clear, dry logic – he saves him, spares a target’s life when eliminating it would be much easier, is playful, cheeky almost; the smiles, the little wink, the way his voice cracks when he says he couldn’t shoot the Chloe android._

_And he’s in love… and it pisses him off because he has no right to want it, no right to being happy. His chance at happiness died with Cole. So he settles for being friends, which is also more than he deserves to begin with. He wants something different, something other than friendship, but he guesses he will take that to the grave._

_-_

Hank watches as Connor’s eyes remain closed, the LED blinking yellow, brow creased in intense focus. He wonders what Connor is seeing, what part of his absolute trainwreck of a life he’s witnessing. He feels an impulse through his hand, like a small shock, and suddenly he’s no longer sitting at his couch.

_He’s not at the snowy landscape this time. Instead, he’s in a room so white it makes him squint some. White walls, white ceiling, white floors. He can tell he’s got something attached to the base of his spine, keeping him in place. He can’t look down at himself because the Connor in the memory doesn’t do so._

_A man’s voice pours out of what he assumes to be speakers on the walls of the room._

_“State your model and number.” he demands_

_“RK-800, serial number 313 248 317 – 51” Hank/Connor replies in the way he used to speak when they first met, words a little clipped, pause between the words carefully laid out; no hesitation, no stuttering “Ready to serve.”_

_The voice chuckles. Hank/Connor doesn’t feel tense, or threatened. To be honest, he doesn’t feel anything at all. He just… exists._

_“Easy, you’re not serving just yet. We got a bit of a situation going on, so we’ll have to put you out there as a prototype, but you still need to finish your aptitude tests first, understand?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Close your eyes, run the zen garden application. Amanda will give you your instructions.”_

_Hank/Connor obeys, and suddenly he is in that same beautiful landscape. The woman from before, Amanda, stands tall before him, draped in a white kimono with yellow details._

_“Hello. Your name is Connor, and you are the android sent by Cyberlife.”_

_“My name is Connor, and I’m the android sent by Cyberlife.” Hank/Connor repeats, the sentence very familiar to him_

_Amanda studies him, walks around him like a potential buyer evaluating merchandise to then stand in front of him again._

_“You will serve Cyberlife and the Detroit Police Department. We will assign you a mission and you will complete it no matter what, do you understand?”_

_Something sparks inside Hank/Connor. Purpose. He has a purpose._

_“Yes.”_

_“You are a deviant hunter. Your mission is to find and eliminate the deviant threat in Detroit. I expect you to find answers as to why the androids become deviants, and bring them back to us so that we can fix the issue. You will be assigned to a human officer, and you must follow his orders unless they conflict with your mission directives.”_

_Hank/Connor nods. He has a mission and the instructions to follow through it. It’s all he need. Amanda turns her back on him to tend to the roses on the wall behind her._

_“One more thing, Connor. We do not tolerate failure. If we deem you as unfit for this mission, you will be decommissioned and destroyed.”_

_A pang of something unfamiliar strikes Hank/Connor on his stomach, and even if the Connor in the memory doesn’t know what it is while the words **[software instability]** show in the corner of his mind, Hank does; That is fear._

_Connor walks out of the self-driving car sent from Cyberlife and takes a small moment to watch the busy street to then look up where a helicopter shines a bright light over a building’s rooftop. He calculates the height of the building, deems the fall as fatal, should any human or android drop from there and then walks inside the lobby, heading for the elevator._

_“Negotiator on sight”_

_“Why aren’t you sending a real person?!”_

_“We send the plastic out there and see, these are our orders. If that thing blasts it’s brains, then we tell our snipers to do the job instead.”_

_Hank/Connor doesn’t care for the dehumanizing way they speak of him despite his presence; all that matters is his mission. The android was going to be replaced by a more recent model. It shares a bond with the human child. He can use the information in his favor._

_The PL600, Daniel, lets go off the child that flees to safety, only to be immediately shot down by the police snipers._

_“You lied to me, Connor.”_

_ **[software instability]** _

_Connor is met with slurs and demands for him to leave every bar he enters as he searches for his new assigned partner, Lt. Hank Anderson. None of it bothers him. The only thing that matters is his mission. Jimmy’s bar is only the fifth one on the list of bars where one could find the lieutenant, and he is lucky enough to finally find him there._

_Things get up to a rocky start, Connor being too soft and Hank being too much of an asshole, and Hank can feel Connor’s struggle to find a way to appease him to no avail. Time goes by in a blur, everything in their investigation so different from Connor’s perspective. Hank/Connor tries to learn everything there is to be learned about Hank. His eyes glance over the anti-android slogans on his board and his photo of the Red Ice Task Force, over his cup of coffee and bonsai tree, and the dog hairs on his chair. He hears Hank’s heavy metal music and tries to come up with a proper way to interact with him. They track down the wanted AX 400, chase it down to a fence and Hank stops him from chasing her down the highway._

_“Connor, stop, you’re gonna get yourself killed!” not broken, not damaged, not destroyed_

_Killed. Hank makes it sounds like he’s alive. Part of Connor dismisses it as just a human mistake, but something in his brain holds onto the concept of him being alive, cherishes it._

_ **[software instability]** _

_The mission matters more than anything._

_ **[software instability]** _

_He stays. Hank sighs out in relief. He wonders it Hank is caring for him, and he frowns. For the mission, he tells himself. For the mission to run more smoothly, they need to get along as partners._

_He’s lying to himself._

_Time passes in what feels like the blink of an eye. The more time the two of them spend together, the more Hank/Connor can feel his programming fraying at the edges, coming apart with every tiny smile or sarcastic comment from Hank’s._

_Then there’s the pursuit, long and intense, and Connor’s enhanced stamina proves itself up to the task; when he’s finally closing in to the target, it pushes Hank off a ledge. There’s an 89% chance of survival for the lieutenant._

_It’s a good chance. The mission matters more than anything._

_ **[software instability]** _

_Connor rushes Hank, grabs his arm. He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t understand. When Hank recovers and turns to leave, he stop, calls Connor’s name. Hank/Connor turns to see him hesitate and grumble ‘nothing’ with a small smile, and it makes his artificial heart work faster. Hank/Connor blames it on the recent accelerated pace. He also realizes he’s lying to himself._

_When Hank/Connor looks through Hank’s window, seeing Hank himself collapsed on the floor, Amanda speaks softly in his mind._

_“All the better. Notify the department about how he’s incapacitated, and they shall provide you with a more efficient partner.”_

_It makes logical sense. Hank/Connor bites his lip._

_“I will check on him.” He feels Amanda’s disapproval in the back of his head “The department is uneasy about an android officer as it is. I can’t start making requests all of a sudden. I’m gonna get him back on his feet and we’ll continue the investigation.”_

_He assesses the whole thing quickly. Gun loaded with one bullet. Bottle of scotch. Booze all over his shirt and chin. Hank/Connor can feel something tighten in his chest, and it doesn’t stop hurting until they manage to get Hank in the shower and convince him to work. The pain worsens when he asks about the loaded gun and finds out about what the humans call Russian Roulette._

_When Hank walks out of the shower, giving Connor a small smile, he feels warmth spreading all over his body from the thirium pump over his stomach. His lips part slightly, and he feels **[word search pending]**_

_“I detect an anomaly in your program, Connor” Amanda says in his mind, and it sounds like a vicious warning_

_Time blurs again. Hank/Connor stand in front of the two Tracis in the alleyway. The blue-haired Traci tells her story, explains her reasons. The short-haired Traci holds her hand._

_“…I just wanted to go back to the one I love.”_

_ **[word search completed]** _

_Connor feels the soft patter of the rain on his head, feels it drip from his brow, his chin. He doesn’t react at all when the two deviants – his targets – leave, deeming this current part of his mission a failure._

_He’s in love._

_“I detect an instability in your program, Connor.” Amanda states dryly when he’s back in the zen garden in his mind as they float in a dainty little boat “What is going on?”_

_He withholds the information. He decides to do so._

_“Nothing. I believe this mission is being strenuous, nothing more.”_

_He can feel Amanda’s trust inching away from him._

_“If you don’t succeed soon, you will have to be replaced.”_

_They had mentioned it to him before. But this time, the thought of being destroyed makes Hank/Connor’s chest feel tight. He wishes to feel this way because he wants to finish his mission._

_He knows he feels this way because he doesn’t want to part ways with lieutenant Anderson._

_“I understand.”_

_When Hank/Connor has his weapon trained on Markus and is given a choice, he accepts his deviancy, lets it enter his mind, override his programming. He feels the LED on his temple spinning red, accepts the emotions that flood him like a dam inside him has been broken._

_He finds his place in the revolution. He understands he needs to help Markus and his crew. And deep inside his **<strike>[biocomponent]</strike> <strike>[temporal lobe]</strike>** heart, he can feel it. The wish to protect Hank, to keep him alive, safe, happy._

_He’s alive, and he is in love._

-

Hank opens his eyes, seeing himself back in his home, sitting on the couch beside Connor, whose brown eyes are just opening up to meet his. Hank feels his eyes sting, feels the warm moist collecting at the corners.

“Even after all that…? Even after seeing…?” he blinks the tears away, hates himself for crying in front of Connor “Why? Why me?”

Connor’s LED takes a few seconds to stop blinking yellow, settling back on the calming blue. When Hank tries to ease out of his grasp, Connor tightens his grip, laces his fingers tighter over his knuckles.

“Because you’re… you.” Connor frowns only so slightly “Because you make me feel this way, Hank. I’m sorry. I can’t provide you with any more information other than that.”

There is a moment of silence before Connor lowers his eyes, LED spinning some.

“I could ask you the same question.” He says sheepishly “I’m an android, created with a programming instead of a personal code, and plastic and wires instead of flesh and blood. I understand why a human wouldn’t want an android for a companion. To most standards, despite Markus’ and the deviants’ recent achievements and some new amendments to the U.S. constitution, I’m a machine that isn’t alive.” He looks back at Hank, an intense look of earnestness taking his face, almost a plead “Then why me?”

Hank’s eyes go wide, and he moves to place a hand over Connor’s chest, feeling his warmth, his breathing, the beat of his heart.

“You’re not a machine.” he says almost angrily, not at Connor, but at the mere idea of it “You’re alive. And you’re the man I love.”

He takes a moment to acknowledge what he just said to then let go of Connor’s hand, pulling him closer by his shirt instead.

“You’re the man I love.”

And he kisses Connor again, soft and gentle and he feels Connor melting into the kiss, hands bumping awkwardly over Hank’s arms to then settle over his shoulders. They keep kissing for what feels like hours, and Hank wouldn’t mind if they took this a step further, but he’s just come home from the hospital after losing a lot of blood and going through a surgery to replace a good chunk of a goddamn limb, so he settles for spending the rest of the afternoon and most of the night pressing his lips to Connor’s, tasting him and enjoying the way he smiles softly at him between each kiss.

He might get used to this faster than he expected. And when it’s about midnight and he invites Connor into his bed, he can’t help but grin at the way the android’s cheeks become tinted with blue.

“C’mon, there’s no way I’m leaving you to sleep on this couch again. I have a change of clothes for you as well, you can put them on after you shower – do you shower? I’m sorry for asking.”

Connor chuckles, tell him he can shower, although he’s never done it outside of an android-only cleaning facility, where most of them would get their hygiene done – androids made for garden and sport-oriented activities would often be required to clean themselves before entering their owner’s homes, and Connor had been told by Cyberlife to always present himself on pristine conditions before heading to the police station. He still remembers how long it took him to get rid of all the thirium slathered over his stomach after the deviant at the news station ripped his pump off – it had not been an experience he would like to repeat.

He lends Connor an old shirt of the Knights of The Black Death he often wears as pajamas, along with a pair of black fleece pants, and he likes the sight of Connor in them when he walks out of the bathroom, realizing this is the first time he’s ever seen him without the button-up shirt, black pants and the jacket that identifies him as an android; the shirt is on the side of too big for his lean body, and his hair…

“You got curls” Hank says with a surprised smile that feels strange on his face, and Connor instinctively brings his hand to his hair

“Yes, it becomes like this when I wash it. The curls become tame if I brush them thoroughly. Do you want me to?”

Hank shakes his head with a low chuckle. His face feels… unnatural. He doesn’t think he’s smiled for such a long period for the best part of three years.

“Connor, what I want honestly doesn’t matter. What do you want?”

Connor’s LED blinks yellow, and he presses his lips together.

“Brushing them would take me time… a time I would rather spend with you.”

Hank smiles still, although bashfully, as he walks back into his bedroom.

“Well then that settles it. C’mere. You can have the left side.”

Connor walks over to sit at the left side of the bed, and when Hank turns the lights off, all he sees in the dark is Connor’s blue LED. It shines over the right side of his face some, marks its outline discreetly.

“Something wrong, Hank?”

Hank shakes his head, sinks down to his side of the bed, staring at Connor’s silhouette, at the blue circle pulsing gently in the dark.

“Your LED light…”

Connor covers it with his hand with a small noise.

“Do you want me to turn it off? It’s an easy setting, it’ll take less than a minute”

Hank mulls it over to then drop down on his pillow. The exhaustion of the whole ‘losing a chunk of his arm plus hand-finding out he’s in love-finding out Connor’s in love-kissing Connor like some shy teenager for hours’ thing seems to finally be catching up to him, and he feels bone tired. Pardon the pun.

“No. I don’t mind about it. Just tell me you don’t snore loudly or… make weird beeping noises, because I need some serious sleep right now.”

Connor takes a moment before slowly, gingerly lying down on the mattress. Like he doesn’t know how to. Like he’s never laid down on a bed before. It makes Hank’s chest feel tight, unfamiliar pang of pity hitting him without warning.

-

Connor manages to settle down at once, still trying to push his systems to get at least close to relaxed enough to get into standby mode despite the way his heart pulses in a fast pace. He’s lying down next to Hank. He’s _close_ to Hank, and Hank _wants_ him close. He almost can’t believe this is happening.

“I assure you that my standby mode is perfectly silent.” he assures “I won’t even move.”

“Good.” Hank pauses for a moment “Wait, you’re not gonna, uh. Stop breathing or anything, are you?”

Connor smiles, finding Hank’s struggle with his words **[word search complete]** _endearing_.

“My artificial breathing is required to keep my systems cooled, but on standby mode that’s not much necessary. Do you want me to stop breathing for the night?”

“Jesus, no. Just… do what I do. Close your eyes, rest your head on the pillow and keep breathing, if that’s not too much to ask, got it?”

Connor chuckles. He doesn’t know why he finds it so fun to tease the lieutenant.

“Got it.”

His enhanced sight allows him to see in the dark with much more clarity than a regular human would. He can see how Hank pulls at the covers, stopping halfway through it to then support himself on his elbow, throwing some of them over to Connor’s side.

“Here. Cover yourself.”

Connor thinks, realizes what Hank is getting at.

“That’s not necessary, Hank. My systems can work perfectly in this temperature.”

Hank pauses for a moment.

“Yeah, but do you want a blanket or not?”

Connor tries to think. Acting outside of what’s strictly necessary is still some of an alien concept to him. He reasons that he would like to accept anything that Hank offers him, and that settles it, makes his LED switch from yellow back to blue.

“I would like that, yes.” he murmurs quietly, almost apologetically

Hank places the covers over him up to his chest, and Connor feels the same flooding of emotions overriding him, and he holds back a sob that travels up his throat. He doesn’t know why this simple act from Hank makes him feel so… **[word search complete]** cherished.

“ ‘Night, Connor.”

Connor swallows down, feeling the warm covers over his body, breathing in Hank’s scent all around him, and as his systems slowly ease down allowing him to access his standby mode, he sighs out with a smile:

“Goodnight, Hank.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WAS gonna have the smut here but the man has JUST been discharged form the hospital after SEVERE blood loss and an WHOLE ASS LIMB being replaced so. Let him rest please.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank can't pretend he didn't see what was inside Connor's mind, and Connor certainly doesn't want to pretend he didn't see what was inside Hank's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is your hard-earned smut. If you read up until here, sit back and enjoy these dorks getting handsy on each other. The switched POV will blend together near the end.

When the next morning comes, Hank wakes up with a pleasant feeling that he takes a while to recognize as just not being hungover as fuck for the second time in a row. He brings his hand to his face, feels the too-light fingers rubbing his eyes, and oddly enough, he can feel the texture of his eyes and eyebrows with it. Cyberlife is freakishly good with their stuff, he’ll give them that.

He tries to actually wake up before opening his eyes this time, so he starts organizing his thoughts. A hunt had ended badly, ‘a man chopping off his arm’ badly. They gave him a prosthetic hand that felt just like the real thing, aside from being a bit lighter due to being mostly plastic and no bone. Then… he assumes he went straight home, plopped down on his bed and had the craziest dream.

The most amazing, craziest dream. He had kissed Connor, had seen his memories and had shared his own with him. Then he kissed him some more.

“Mmm.” He groans, smile spreading over his lips as he rolls to his side; it’s always nice when his brain is kind enough to make him dream of things he actually wants instead of shootouts and drug dealers threatening to gut him like a fish “Connor…”

He opens his eyes, looking at the wall in front of him, and like an answer to his calling, he hears the curtains being pulled apart, a vertical patch of sunlight spilling over his body and the wall. He frowns, turns to look at the window to see Connor, dressed in his black suit and tie, the same perfect posture, shoulders squared and hair perfectly combed to the side.

“Good morning, Hank. It’s 10:15 AM, the forecast is sunny with occasional showers in the afternoon and I’ve received a message from Captain Fowler that says, quote ‘Good job on the Slayer case. I wish you a speedy recovery. Speaking of that, don’t you fucking dare show your ass in here until your time off is through.’

Hank squints at the daylight to then sit up, face feeling hot. So Connor was there. Had he just gotten in his place? Had he spent the night? How much of the previous day was reality and how much of it was just his imagination going wild?

“Ah. That sounds like Jeffrey alright.” Hank gets up, flexing the fingers of his left hand; he must commend his brain for coming up with mind-connecting prosthetics, that’s some top quality sci-fi bullshit

“You should eat something. Humans’ long sleeping hours cause them to have a long period of fasting, therefore making breakfast the most important meal of the day.”

Hank rolls his eyes.

The rest of the morning goes by, Connor sitting with him at the table as he eats his breakfast, making some smartass comment on how yesterday’s donuts from the fridge weren’t really the most healthy breakfast option. Hank finds himself finally tidying his house with the excuse of finally having some free time but actually it’s because he can’t help feeling awkward next to Connor.

That damned dream was everything he wanted to happen, and apparently Connor has no idea of it. He just occasionally follows him around the house, asking Hank if he needs any help.

_Yeah, sure, can you please actually think I’m worth something and kiss me like no one’s ever kissed me before just like in my dream?_

Hank grumbles that ‘no, thank you, go find something to do’ and after the whole place is pristine and he changes out of his pajamas it’s only lunchtime. He fills Sumo’s plate to the brim with dog food, gives him an appreciative pat on the head as the dog munches down happily.

“Connor, we’re heading out.”

Connor shows up in the kitchen door, holding one of Hank’s paper books in his hand.

“Fowler asked you not to-”

“I just wanna get me something at Gary’s. M’not gonna try and actually cook with this thing.” he raises his prosthesis, finally feeling used to its weight

Connor blinks, LED going yellow. He opens his mouth to then close it, then nods, LED blue now.

“Okay. Let’s go to Gary’s.”

Hank’s pretty certain he was going to mention something about the Chicken Feed not being the healthiest food-selling place on earth, and it makes him smile quietly to himself.

-

Connor spends the rest of the day trying to behave as normally as possible, despite himself. He doesn’t know what approach to take in this entirely unprecedented situation, and for the first time his programming isn’t there to orient him, his handler isn’t there to advise him, his orders are there to guide him. He’s alone with his feelings in a battle he doesn’t know how to fight.

He watches as Hank eats his definitely-too-high-on-calories-hamburger and drinks his sugary-beyond-advisable-levels-soda, tries to focus on the shift from Gary Kayes calling Connor “him” instead of “it”, on the sound of the cars passing by, of anything else at all, but the way Hank’s eyes draw him in. He feels the warmth of Hank’s flesh hand touching his for a brief moment.

“You alright, Connor?”

Connor feels the thirium travel up to his face, feels the heat on his cheeks as he lowers his eyes.

“Yes, Hank.”

They don’t exchange any more words on the way back home and through the afternoon, except when Hank goes to his fridge reaching for a beer after dinner and Connor gently pushes the fridge door shut, reminding him of the promise of no alcohol for a week to aid his recovery. Connor is already expecting the push back, maybe even a harmless insult tossed at him, but Hank unexpectedly gives him a nod and a quiet ‘okay’ walking to the living room and turning his TV on to watch the basketball match that is about to start.

“Hey Connor.” Hank calls him, and it makes that same warmth travel through his body from his chest; he <strike>**[likes]**</strike> _loves_ the sound of his name in Hank’s voice “C’mon, sit down. You gotta learn some basketball that isn’t all about percentages and crap.”

Connor hesitates before gingerly sitting down next to Hank, in a distance that his system deems as neither too close, nor too far from him. Hank looks at him, small smile on his lips. His system informs him that Hank’s heart rate is slightly elevated for his current condition – he’s sat down and relaxed, which doesn’t add up. His shoulders are slightly tense, and his gaze keeps moving from Connor’s eyes to his lips.

Connor mirrors Hank’s behavior, looks at his lips as well, notices the way he licks them nervously. He stares at Hank with intent, breathing hitching only so slightly. He can’t keep himself from wanting him any longer, and he only hopes Hank feels the same way.

“Hank…” Connor lowers his eyes for a moment to then look back up at him, at those eyes, those magnificent blue eyes that make his artificial brain feel slowed down, placed in a different time flow “Is it okay for me to kiss you again?”

-

Hank’s eyes go wide as a cold excitement settles in his gut, contrasting with the warmth spreads in his chest, heart hammering almost painfully. It hadn’t been a dream. It hadn’t…

I love you, Hank.

Hank yanks Connor by his tie, giving him a fierce kiss that presses their noses so hard against each other it’s uncomfortable somewhat until Connor tilts his head to the side, throwing his arms over Hank’s shoulder and raising a leg over Hank’s thigh. All the noise around him dies out – the game, the heavy rain hitting the roof above them, there is only Connor and the way he kisses him, heady and deep and hungry.

Hank grabs at Connor waist, pulls him over himself almost effortlessly, and the android quickly follows Hank’s handling, shifts his knees on either side of him, easing onto his lap, never pulling away from Hank, kissing him still.

It’s nothing like the previous night – Connor’s kissing is downright filthy, tongue pressing hard against Hank’s. When he nibbles gently at Hank’s lower lip, Hank groans out, hands pressing hard over the small of Connor’s back, pulling him closer. Shit, he’s perfect, all warm and soft, mouth opening hungrily to take Hank, letting the lieutenant taste him, inviting Hank to explore his mouth thoroughly and hell if Hank isn’t going to accept it.

Connor is having a hard time staying focused – his brain feels fuzzy, sensations in his body overriding all rational thought. Hank feels so hot, so good against him. Connor finds it freeing, to allow his body to act on instinct to give up on instructions and orders and just let things happen, each surprising new feeling making him feel like there are sparks in his chest. He feels Hank’s fingers splayed on his lower back and parts his knees further apart, pressing himself flush to Hank’s body. Electricity shoots up his spine, and he grinds against Hank once, tentatively.

Hank can’t stop the moan the spills from his mouth at the feeling of Connor grinding up against him, but it gets muffled against Connor’s lips. It makes something dark inside him feel acknowledged, remembered, something he had no idea was still there. Let’s face it, he’s been out of the game for a while now, tried picking up a rando or two at some bars to get some distraction only to find it disappointing, the lack of connection, the rush for getting it done like it was some kind of task. The self-loathing didn’t help, the way he hated himself sometimes being enough to even prevent him from getting it up at all.

But this… to want and be wanted, this feeling was nearly forgotten by him, and now it hits him like a freight train. Connor grinds against him again, and he feels heat pooling in his lower stomach, lust blooming in his chest.

Connor’s hands move from Hank’s neck to his shoulders, and he moves to plant kisses to Hank’s cheek, to his jawline.

**[thirium pump activity elevated]**

**[increase respiratory activity in order to cool system]**

Connor breathes in, trying to clear his mind some. Every touch makes his body feel hotter and hotter, and he wants more, wants to drown in the feelings he’s been pushing back for so long. He kisses Hank’s earlobe, whispers weakly close to it:

“Hank, I want… I want…”

**[word search pending]**

He doesn’t know what he wants, can’t find the words to explain it, so he grinds against Hank, hard, and the friction makes him let out a small whimper that makes him sound like he’s hurt. Hank pulls Connor closer to himself, tilting his head to kiss and nip at Connor’s neck, prying tiny broken noises out of him.

“What do you want? Hmm?” the way Hank asks it makes it sound like he knows exactly what Connor wants even if Connor himself doesn’t know it

“I don’t…” Hank licks a long, lazy stripe along the artificial tendon on the side of Connor’s neck, and his sight nearly blacks out some, air escaping his lungs “More… I want more of… More of this. More of you, Hank…”

And hell, if that doesn’t go straight to Hank’s dick. He has no idea what Connor’s packing, but he can feel something stiff against his own hardness, and he jerks his hips up against it, and the sound Connor makes is downright sinful, a broken moan that gets him going in a split second. He catches Connor’s lips in a kiss, long and loving to then pull back, Connor’s face easing into focus. Connor’s chest moves with his shallow breathing, lips turned red and slightly swollen from all the kissing slowly turning back into its soft pink shade. The android’s eyes are blown wide with lust, and Hank enjoys the long missed sense of pride it gives him.

“We should move this to the bedroom.” he says, voice low and raspy with need, and after a second of yellow-LED considering, Connor nods, gingerly easing out of his lap like it pains him to do so and standing up

Hank stands up as well, cock feeling heavy pressed against his belly by his boxers that have never felt so tight. Jesus, no one’s ever got him this eager to go so fast before. He grabs Connor by his tie, gives him a closed-mouth kiss that’s almost _chaste_ before dragging him to his bedroom by it. Connor doesn’t protest at all, following him eagerly there.

Hank closes the door behind them, and Connor feels suddenly very aware of the silence surrounding them, the rain on the roof turning into background static in the back of his mind. Hank looks at him from head to toe, eyes squinting some likes he’s almost… studying him. Connor squares his shoulders and raises up his chin, following the way Cyberlife had designed him to stand – feet exactly fourteen inches apart, hands folded behind his back, eyes trained ahead.

He wants to be perfect for Hank, _needs to be_, and when Hank reaches out and holds a hand over Connor’s chest, he lets out a breath he didn’t notice he had been holding back. Hank lowers his gaze to look into his eyes, and it’s the first time Connor realizes he likes the height difference between the two of them, Hank standing five and a half inches above him.

“You look tense.” There is no venom in the statement, no witty sarcasm; Connor acknowledges his tone as… concern, and it makes his brain feel fuzzy all over again

“I just don’t…” hell, he’s an RK-800, top of the line. What is it about Hank that makes him stutter and stumble over his words like a glitch is taking over his speech features? “Don’t wanna do anything wrong. Don’t want you to-”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, and Hank can feel his heart clench in itself. Connor lowers his eyes, but Hank tips his chin up with his free hand.

“Hey, hey. If we’re gonna do this, I need you to talk to me. What is it that you don’t want?”

Connor reluctantly looks back up to Hank, voice strained as his the soft blue tinting his cheeks becomes more evident, making some of his freckles disappear with the contrast.

“Don’t want you to stop touching me.”

Hank’s expression softens at that, and he kisses Connor over his cheekbone, breath warm against his skin.

“Well, that I can do.” He moves the hand over Connor’s chest to his tie, reaches the knot over Connor’s neck “Can I take this off?”

Connor nod sheepishly, eyes still staring up at Hank with an almost desperate begging to them, and Hank eases the knot up, lets the fabric run through it until it’s loose enough to be pulled over Connor’s head and tossed unceremoniously over the nearby chair. He undoes the button over Connor’s neck and the one right under it to then part the fabric away from Connor’s skin. He notices a few freckles scattered here and there over his neck, commits them to memory. He cocks his head to the side, dips down to presse a delicate kiss over Connor’s throat, hears the startled gasp and notices the way his entire body goes stiff.

“You okay with this?” he asks, freezing on the spot; if Connor answers negatively or doesn’t answer at all, he’ll pull away for good measure

But Connor tips his chin up, tilting his head some to allow more of an opening to Hank, chest rising and falling with the cadence of his shallow breathing.

“Yes.” it comes out in a shaky breath “Please, don’t stop.”

Hank hums, smiling as he presses another kiss along the side of Connor’s neck, then another. He’s not an eager twenty-somethings anymore, he can take his goddamn time on foreplay, and he sure as hell is going to, despite the way Connor makes him actually feel like an eager twenty-somethings. Hell, he didn’t even remember he was supposed to feel this hot and eager for sex.

So he eases Connor out of his jacket, watches as Connor allows it to slide fluidly down his arms and on the floor, eyes watching Hank like his life depends on it making him feel even hotter. He undoes the buttons of Connor’s shirt one by one, and asks softly:

“Still okay?”

Connor nods repeatedly, bites his lip. The sight makes Hank twitch in his pants.

“Can I… Can I touch you too?”

Hank smiles, takes Connor’s forearms and places his hands on his own waist.

“‘Course you can, sweetheart. You can do anything you feel like.”

Connor shuffles closer to him, presses his lips lightly against Hank’s own and speaks against them, breath hot with need.

“I don’t wanna… Don’t wanna do anything you don’t like. I wanna be good for you, Hank...”

Well, _shit_, if Hank wasn’t _hard as fuck_ already. Connor’s small, weak voice is driving him out of his mind – he didn’t even know the android could _sound_ like that. He draws a breath, tries to keep himself steady despite how hard he wants to rut against Connor right now.

“That’s okay, Con. That’s why I’m asking you if things are okay. We check on each other to make sure we’re being good for each other, got it? I’ll tell you if anything bothers me if you promise to tell me if anything bothers you, deal?”

Connor pulls a few inches away to look at him with eyes that are almost glassy. He blinks the look away, his LED flickering from yellow to blue.

“Deal.” he whispers, licking his lips and clearing his throat, and he sounds more firm “Deal.”

“That’s it…” Hank hums approvingly, moving back to Connor’s neck as he finishes opening up his shirt

He nibbles softly against Connor’s skin, feels the soft material giving way under his teeth, and Connor fucking shakes under his touch, broken moans leaving him. Hell, if he’s this far gone even before they’re out of their clothes, he doesn’t think the android’s gonna last long. Not that he minds – he’s experienced enough to know that the fun isn’t only on orgasming. He just wants the two of them to have a good time, especially Connor, that seems to be the opposite of experienced with any of this. Hank won’t push his limits, won’t try to get anything he isn’t enthusiastically offering.

Connor can’t help but shut his eyes and enjoy the sensations flaring up in his brain. The scratch of Hank’s beard, his hot lips on his skin, the pressure of his teeth. He can almost feel his LED flicking between blue and red and blue again, what his sensors recognize as pain melting into pleasure, his senses feeling so heightened he can almost feel the electric current being transmitted from his skin into his receptors.

The noises he’s making… they sound like pleading. Like he’s offering something, anything to keep receiving what he’s being given, and he realizes the something is himself. He’s humbly giving himself to Hank, all of him to the lieutenant, for him to do what he wants with. Anything. Everything. _RA9, he needs this_.

“Still good?” Hank asks as he slides his open shirt down his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his chest, over his pounding heart

“Yes.” Connor gasps out, shivers breaking all over his artificial skin, while Hank discards his shirt, thirium burning hot in his veins; Connor grabs onto Hank’s waist again like the lieutenant is a lifeline “So good.”

Hank gives him a soft push to his chest, and Connor snaps his eyes open, trying to comprehend, panic setting in his brain; had he done something wrong? Should he apologize? Hank looks at his desperate eyes and shushes him.

“Just want you to sit down, sweetheart, that’s all.”

Connor feels another light push to his chest until the fold of his knee meet the end of Hank’s bed, and he allows his legs to give, sitting down with a sigh, tiny smile of relief on his lips.

“There…” and Hank is kneeling over _him_ this time, big and strong, and Connor thinks quietly to himself that despite him being about three times stronger than the average human, he enjoys the feeling of submitting to Hank, of letting him take the lead of whatever it is they’re doing “On your back, now…”

Connor obeys, easing down on his back and letting his lips part in awe at the sight of Hank towering above him, bangs framing his face **[word search complete]** beautifully. Hank is really handsome, the slightly deep cheeks and tall cheekbones, the shape of his eyes, the way the clear blue pulls him in. And _fuck_, if he’s handsome at his usual grumpy self he is just downright _wrecking_ when he smiles. Connor suddenly understands part of the logic of his new directive being to keep Hank happy – he just wants to stare at that smile forever.

Connor keeps staring at Hank, and Hank doesn’t know what to make of it. He’s never been the most handsome guy around, he’s sure of that, and he knows his looks didn’t get any better after he let go of himself for good, all the booze and the little sleep, the way he only barely manages to more or less trim his beard when it gets too out of hand and how his hair started going grey on his mid to late thirties, how he just let it grow out, unkempt and messy. He couldn’t possibly care less about any of it, but now, under Connor’s gaze he wishes he had something a little better to offer him, something less fucked up.

Connor’s lifts his upper back from the mattress, hands reaching up to rest at the sides of Hank’s neck, warm and soft.

“Why’d you stop?” he pants out, begs, lips parted; his hands move to the neck of Hank’s shirt, thumbs fumbling with the buttons “Don’t stop…”

He gets the first button open, reaches down for the second. Hank mutters Connor’s name, but the android doesn’t seem to acknowledge it with more than a small humming noise. One of his hands move over to Hank’s ribs, and despite Hank’s reflexes, despite his instincts and how many times he’s avoided the same move more than once in a fight, there’s nothing he can do when Connor effortlessly flips him over, letting him drop on his side with a surprised huff.

“Con-”

And Connor is over him, straddling his thigh and reaching to undo another button of his shirt. Hell, how is he so fast at this?

“Are you okay with this, Hank?” he asks earnestly “I figured that you wanted me to do the same to you at some point.”

Hank looks from Connor’s eager eyes to the android’s naked chest and stomach. Hell, the scattered freckles, the way his pectorals are only slightly outlined, his shape lean but somewhat built… Connor is a goddamn sight to behold, and Hank’s eyes trace all of him like he’ll never get another chance. He sees the a thin circular indent right under Connor’s chest, in the hollow of his ribcage, remembers seeing Connor drenched in his own blue blood over his stomach after a deviant had ripped it clean off of him, and he reaches to brush a thumb over it, his other hand resting on Connor’s waist.

Connor is still unbuttoning Hank’s shirt, and after he’s finally getting the last button done, he sighs out, looking at the lieutenant’s naked chest. Hank is well-built, even if Connor can tell that he hasn’t worked out as much recently as he probably used to back in his days at the academy or as a young detective, but he can see it there, on his broad, strong chest; there’s some grey fuzz over his sternum, a few scattered scars here and there in the shape of lines of lighter skin, most likely obtained in the line of duty.

Connor reaches down to brush his fingers to that soft fuzz, barely touching skin; he ghosts his fingers over Hank’s chest, gently dragging them to the left side of it until he can lower his shaky palm over his heart.

**[increasing heart rate detected]**

Hank’s heart is beating faster, just like Connor’s own. Is it because of him? Is Hank feeling the same strange cold excitement on his gut paired with a warm feeling in his chest? His cheeks are burning hot, and he doesn’t dare look up to Hank’s eyes, gaze drifting down to the lieutenant’s stomach along with his hand. He isn’t lean like Connor, although Connor can feel the resistance of muscle under the layer of softer skin. He places his free hand over Hank’s ribcage, caressing it gently.

Hank watches Connor intently, a crease drawn on his forehead. His breath is shallow, air only filling his lungs halfway before he exhales silently. Connor’s touch is soft and gentle, and Hank is glad the android is avoiding his eyes because he’s feeling self-conscious enough as it is. He feels painfully aware of how much he’s let himself go over the years; the bare minimum of exercising he takes to be able to keep with the occasional foot pursuits of the job only countered the inevitable beer belly he’s acquired to a small degree. The large scar from a stab wound a Red Ice cartel dealer gifted him with isn’t that pretty either. None of him was very pretty, if he’s being honest.

The fact is that he’s only waiting for Connor to hesitate, to clear his throat and say in an apologetic tone that ‘maybe they’re taking things too fast’ or that ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ or any of the usual things people say when they’re disappointed with what they see. He decides to let Connor know that he’s more than free to not want to fuck him; he would be surprised if he did, anyway.

“Connor.” and damn it all, Connor whips his face up to him, set those gorgeous brown eyes on him “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Connor raises an eyebrow, LED going yellow for a second.

“You’ve already told me that, Hank.” and before Hank can say anything, he continues “Am I doing anything wrong? You seem… hesitant.”

Hank breathes out, a pained smile taking his features.

“You’re doing great, Con.” he licks his lips “I’m just…”

Fuck, why does he feel so inadequate? Connor’s just gorgeous, more than gorgeous, he’s literally perfect and Hank’s… well, he’s _him_. Enough said. Connor, however, wraps his fingers gingerly over the hand Hank has placed over the circular indent that glows with a soft blue in the hollow of Connor’s ribcage.

“Do the biocomponents bother you?” Connor asks in a murmur “I can turn off their diagnosis’ lights. I’ve just performed a search and realized that most humans prefer to have them off during…”

At that, Hank sits up sharply, one hand holding Connor over his lap.

“No.” Hank replies like the very suggestion offends him, and it does, thumb still stroking over the blue ring “No, I don’t want you to change anything about you.” he chuckles softly, and it sounds downright sad “If anything, I wish I could look any better to you.”

Connor stays silent for a moment to then say very quietly:

“I don’t think you could.”

That stings, but hey, he’s got a point, doesn’t he? Hank is about to suggest that they just stop and lie down to sleep, despite how warm and soft and good Connor feels on his lap when Connor ducks his head and plants a kiss to the side of Hank’s neck.

And despite the way that the current self-loathing trip had managed to cut off most of his mood, Hank just feels all that heat from before rushing right back in. What is it about Connor that just makes him so… unprepared? He wonders which one of them is actually leading any of this.

Connor kisses his neck again, and Hank groans.

“You’re beautiful, Hank.” Connor whispers over the sensitive skin to then press another kiss with his parted lips that makes Hank moan quietly “So beautiful.”

Hank’s eyes go wide over Connor’s shoulder. He doesn’t really remember the last time someone said that to him. It makes his heart flutter, and he pulls Connor closer on his lap, presses their chests flush together. Connor sucks tentatively on the tendon of his neck, and Hank moan out, louder this time. He feels Connor smile against his skin.

“You like this.” It isn’t a question, but Hank still breathes out a stuttered ‘yes’ “I’m glad.”

Connor slides Hank’s open shirt down his shoulders, and Hank helps him, carelessly tosses it over to the floor to then wrap his hands over Connor’s waist again, caressing the warm skin and tipping his head to allow Connor more access to his neck. Connor hums, kissing and licking every inch of skin he can reach, and it makes Hank shudder, brows arching.

“Fuck, Connor… you’re gonna drive me crazy.”

They don’t talk much then, not for a long time. Connor hums as he drags his teeth over the soft skin where Hank’s neck meets his shoulder, and Hank lets out a hissed breath, turns to kiss Connor’s cheek, catches his lips in a wet, messy kiss as he eases down on the bed, pulling Connor along with him by his shoulders.

Hank rolls Connor on his back, kneels over him and the excited grin on Connor’s eyes makes him lean down to kiss him harder, hand shooting down to Connor’s groin, where he most definitely feels something hard against his palm.

Connor jerks his hips up with a moan that is downright indecent, and Hank grins.

“You like that, don’t you?”

Connor’s eyes are wide, lips parted huffing out a breath as he nods.

“Yeah…”

It’s like Connor himself didn’t expect the feeling, and Hank likes the look on his face. He wraps his fingers around Connor’s cock, presses a kiss to the hollow of Connor’s throat and gently tugs down at it. Connor moans again, and holy shit, Hank doesn’t want him to ever stop making these sounds.

“S’that good? You’re liking this?” Hank asks, and Connor nods feverishly

“Touch me… touch me more… Please, Hank…”

Connor begs for it with a husky, needy plea that even Connor himself finds it strange to recognize as his own voice, but he can’t help it. He feels like every touch from Hank is setting fire to his body, and he wants more, wants to burn if he has to.

Hank shushes him, and leans down to kiss his sternum, moving lower to his stomach as he unbuckles his belt and fumbles with his pants.

“Lift up your hips, sweetheart.”

Connor obeys, watches as Hank drags his pants down along with his underwear, exposing the skin beneath that is sprinkled with freckles, until he can drag them down his feet and toss them to the floor. Hank’s hands are on his legs then, moving upwards, and Connor whimpers, almost shaking on the bed. Why is his entire body so sensitive? His brain feels dazed, he feels his face hot again for some reason, averts his eyes from Hank as the lieutenant shuffles between in legs, parting them further apart.

Connor feels his naked thighs being placed over Hank’s, and being naked while Hank is still partially dressed is a heady feeling, it makes him feel **[word search complete]** _vulnerable_ and _weak_, and he doesn’t understand why it makes his cock twitch, pressed flush over his stomach, so hard it almost hurts.

“Shit, you’re just fucking gorgeous, Connor.” there is something akin to awe in Hank’s voice, and for some reason it makes Connor hide his eyes away his forearm “You’re so beautiful.”

Hank keeps caressing his body, little electric currents running under Connor’s skin on his wake, and he can’t stop the full body shudders, swallowing down and trying to settle his breathing. Everything is so much, and it’s overwhelming, and he doesn’t want it to ever stop.

“You’re still okay, Con?”

Connor nods weakly, lowers his arm to be able to look up at the clear blues staring at him, notices how eager they look but Hank’s expression is collected, waiting for an answer.

“Very okay…” Connor says with a small smile, and Hank smiles back at him “Please, more…”

And Hank happily obliges, both hands moving up to Connor’s hips, thumbs pressing over his hipbones. He’s so warm and soft and perfect, Hank can’t wait to watch him come undone under his hands. He feels the way Connor is almost wiggling under him, notices how he’s moving his hips upwards in aborted half-thrusts, LED blinking red and then blue again.

“Something wrong, Connor?” Hank asks, easing his grip; red usually didn’t mean anything good

Connor’s hand shoots down to grab at Hank’s wrist.

“Touch me… need you to touch me…” he gingerly moves Hank’s hand closer to his crotch, dangerously close to his stiff cock “Here, please. Please… I feel like… I’m gonna go crazy…”

Hank’s concerned expression melts into a knowing smile. Oh, that he can do. He grabs Connor’s cock with a grip that is on the tighter side, and Connor throws his head back with a moan, and he can feel Connor throb under his fingers. Jesus, this is hot.

Connor goes uncharacteristically quiet, except for the gasps and moans he lets out every time Hank strokes his cock very slowly; Hank keeps an eye on him, watches his physical responses, wanting this to be nothing but pleasant for his partner. He licks his lips as his free hand roams over Connor’s stomach and up to his chest, tweaking a nipple. That gets another loud moan from Connor, and Hank just grins at how noisy the android is – for some reason he had expected him to be silent, or not very responsive at all. Instead, he’s got the android shivering over his thighs, whimpering as his cheeks become flushed with a light blue hue.

Connor parts his lips, breath shallow as he dismisses every single warning from his straining systems. Yes, he’s aware that he’s breathing through his mouth. Yes, he’s aware of his elevated thirium pump activity. No, he can’t stop shivering. Shut up already.

The sensations are overwhelming, Hank’s hand on his cock, the way he moves it like he knows exactly how to. Connor jerks his hips upward into his hand, but Hank quickly moves his free hand to his hip, holding it in a grip that is shy from bruising, and it makes Connor moan again.

“Easy, now.” Hank croons, and his voice is deep and rich with amusement “Let me take care of you, love.”

Connor swallows down thickly, Hank’s words making him shiver. He tosses his hands to his sides, gripping at the sheets.

“Please, Hank…”

Hank shushes him, grabbing tightly at the base of his cock, and Connor is pretty sure his sight goes blurry, back arching off the bed some. When Hank lets go off his cock, he chokes back a sob.

“Ah…! No, no, no, don’t…!”

“Shh. Easy.” Hank says, and it almost sounds like an order, so Connor falls silent, chest heaving with his breath “Easy, now.”

And Hank takes his sweet time picking Connor apart, leaning down to kiss him, as his hands and lips caressing every inch of his body. Connor lies down obediently, although his fingers are bunching up the sheets so tightly his knuckles have gone white. With every touch, every kiss to his neck, his chest, Connor becomes less and less coherent until all he can manage is husky, raspy plea.

“Please, please, Hank I can’t…”

Hank can’t help but agree with what he assumes Connor is trying to say. He feels too hot, too eager to keep messing around like this.

“I know. Gimme a second.”

Hank pulls back some, straightens himself up get up and undo his pants, watches as Connor sits up as well, lips parted and chest heaving with his shallow breaths. He’s only managed to kick down his pants along with his underwear, stepping out of them and Connor is already crawling over to the edge of the bed, sitting up to reach one hand to Hank’s hip, pulling him close as he wraps his fingers around Hank’s cock. The android’s LED is steady yellow, and Hank can only wonder what the hell is he researching, but he’s pretty sure it won’t take long before he finds out.

Connor bites his lip at the startled gasp from Hank’s lips, reads his body cues as positive ones – the way his shoulders jerk upright, how his eyebrows arch some. Connor leans forward to press a kiss to Hank’s hipbone, hand moving down with a gentle squeeze, and Hank moans out.

“Shit, Connor…”

Connor kisses his lower stomach now, electricity running down his spine at the way Hank says his name. His own cock twitches unexpectedly – RA9, how can Hank elicit so many physical reactions on him with only his voice alone? It’s like Connor was programmed to follow its every command, be overwhelmed with emotions at every aroused word and moan.

Connor repeats the motion, a little tighter this time, up and down, lifts his gaze to meet Hank’s waiting for a reaction. Hank lets out a hissed breath, flashes his tongue over his lips, blue eyes overcome with something dark and hungry, something Connor wants – needs to see more of.

So he follows what his research suggests and draws his face closer to Hank’s cock, licking his lips to then press a wet kiss to its tip and Hank all but throws his head back with another groan. Hank himself is not entirely proud of it, the way Connor can get him going like he’s a shy teenager all over again, it’s almost embarrassing. He places a hand on the back of Connor’s neck and the android shudders heavily; they’re both horny messes and Hank is about to make a snide remark about it when Connor parts his lips and sucks the head of his cock into his mouth, and his train of thought crashes beautifully.

Sweet Jesus, Connor’s mouth is hot and wet to a ridiculously perfect degree, the delicious texture of his tongue dragging smoothly against his frenulum and over his shaft. Connor pulls back some, gently raking his front teeth up to the head of his cock to then push himself further down. Hank moans quietly once, then twice, and can’t notice how he’s becoming gradually louder until he realizes the sounds echoing against the walls. It’s a sinful thing, the way his hearing suddenly starts picking up on the little things. His moans, Connor’s shallow breathing, the wet noises every time he opens his mouth for a small respite before sinking back down again.

Connor starts moving his hand again, jerking Hank as he sucks him off, and Hank almost winces at how fucking good it feels, instinctively rocks his hips with Connor’s pace. Fuck, this feels better than anything he can remember right now, maybe better than anything he’s ever felt in his life. It feels good, too good, and he has to force himself to actually pull away some, holding Connor in place with his hand. The wet popping noise with which Connor releases him doesn’t help him at all in his attempt at cooling down.

“Have…” Connor licks his lips, which are slightly swollen and reddened and beautiful “Have I done something wrong?”

The small note of worry in his voice, the way his chin glistens with synthetic saliva, the way he pants through his parted lips. Hell, Hank wants to thoroughly wreck him just like Connor is wrecking him. He gives him a reassuring smile just as Connor’s LED blinks red.

“No, babe, you’re doing just fine. Too fine, if I may add.” He’s glad to see Connor smile, concern melting into pride, LED switching to blue again as Hank sits down beside him “We need to talk, though.”

Connor reaches for Hank’s hand, brings it to his lips and kisses his knuckles. It’s the same hand that had connected the two of them before.

“Don’t feel much like talking right now, Hank…” he says, breath warm over the back of Hank’s hand “You said you would give me what I want.”

Hank chuckles. What a brat.

“Well,” he starts patiently like his own cock isn’t so hard it almost hurts “I need to know how I can make you feel good. How your, uh, body works, so that I won’t do anything wrong.”

Connor runs his thumb over Hank’s knuckles, making no effort to sound collected. Instead he sounds impatient, like he would when Hank would ask him too many question as to why he acted in ways that could be perceived as deviant.

“My body works just like yours. I’m fully prepared for intercourse, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s… well, jesus, okay.” Hank frowns at the dry remark, but then Connor is sucking one of his fingers into that hot, wet mouth of his and Hank’s brain starts feeling real fuzzy “Y-yeah, that helps, but-”

Connor takes a second finger in his mouth and Hank’s can’t seem to possibly remember what he was talking about before Connor did so, and he’s pretty sure he nearly flatlines when Connor reaches for his own cock with his free hand, looking right at Hank’s eyes as he strokes it tentatively. He pulls Hank’s hand away, withdrawing his fingers from his mouth to drawl out:

“Fuck me, Hank.”

Okay, that was it for Hank’s self-control. But he had no lube available, hadn’t had in a while – he never thought he’d be able to get over his self-loathing to ever try and fuck again so he hadn’t bothered, and he sure as hell won’t fuck Connor dry. Going by all the signs, Connor is obviously a virgin, and getting fucked unlubed is difficult enough even when you’re experienced, so that was a no-no.

“I’ll see what I can do.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to Connor’s cheek “Lie down on your stomach.”

Hank watches as Connor moves gingerly to the middle of the bed, elegantly easing himself down on his stomach, legs slightly parted; Hank offers him an appreciative hum as he kneels up between them, hands moving up Connor’s thighs then cup his ass with the curve of his hands. Connor whimpers quietly, and Hank takes his time fondling Connor’s ass cheeks. It’s a perfect ass, soft but still somewhat muscular, and the way it clenches under Hank’s touch is just gorgeous. He stretches it apart, feels his own cock throb at the sight of Connor’s hole, how it twitches in reflex along with a moan from Connor. It doesn’t take long before Connor starts rutting at the mattress, voice so strained it comes through a thin layer of static.

“Hank, _please_.”

Hank is almost divided between finally doing something for the android or let him wait some more, just to hear his name in such a needy plea again, but he obliges, letting a generous amount of saliva coat his finger as he pushes one of Connor’s cheeks apart with his free hand. He circles the rim of Connor’s ass some, tries to ease Connor into the feeling.

“Does that feel good?”

Hank’s answer is a loud, obscene moan and a wiggle from Connor’s hips, and Connor weakly punches the mattress, a hissed swear escaping his lips.

“…yes. Yes, so good.”

Hank smiled, pressed the tip of his finger into the quivering hole. Nothing could’ve prepared him for the long, drawn-out moan from Connor. Shit, the android sounded like something straight out of porn, and knowing he’s the one bringing out these noises from Connor makes pride swell in Hank’s chest.

“I don’t think we’ll be able to do anything more than that tonight.” He warns, pushing his finger until he’s met with resistance, then he stops “But you bet I’m gonna make you feel really good, babe.”

Connor doesn’t answer. Can’t bring himself to. The sensations flooding his artificial brain are just too much – Hank’s finger, stretching the rim off his hole, Hank’s voice, talking about making him feel good, caring about what Connor _wants_ when no one before has ever done. He wants more, needs more. His artificial muscles clench at the entrance of the foreign object, systems warning him of it. He waves the alert off, tries to relax, to allow Hank’s entrance. It stings, the friction of Hank’s finger and the soft, sensitive material of his insides, and Connor commands his system to lubricate the area. He eases a breath out, lets his eyes fall shut.

Hank’s finger, gently pressed to Connor’s hole, just slides almost all the way to Hank’s knuckles. Hank can feel the sudden moisture coating his fingers, eyes going wide.

“Hey, what the… Connor, is that you? Are you getting _wet?_”

Connor shudders, forces himself to blink his eyes open.

“Can self-lubricate…” he manages “It’ll make it easier for you to enter me.”

And holy shit, Hank can’t come up with any smart retort for that. He pulls his finger back some to then slowly sink it back into Connor. The sound Connor makes is just lovely, a low, guttural moan. The next time Hank moves, Connor is pushing his ass back against him.

“Give me more, more, please…”

And there’s no power on earth that could make Hank say no to that. He pulls almost all the way out to then add another finger, and Connor smashes his face against a pillow, muffling his moans there. Hank pumps his fingers in and out of Connor, biting his lip in excitement. The way the muscles of Connor’s back dance under his skin, how Connor squirm and whines, shit, this is all so much. No matter how this night ends, it’s already more than paid off.

When Hank adds a third finger, Connor just slumps down and takes it, babbling softly about how good it feels, how good Hank is to him, how much he loves it, loves _him_. It then turns into a never ending begging of _fuck me, fuck me, I need you, need your cock, please. _Hank knows that any praise would already have gotten him going but this is driving him out of his mind. He slowly retreats his fingers from Connor’s hole, and the android is left shivering on the bed, glancing over his shoulder with dark eyes full of begging.

“Hank…?”

Hank wipes his hand on the sheet and kneels between Connor’s thighs, gently touching his waist. Connor feels so hot, he’s shaking under Hank’s fingers.

“Get on your hands and knees for me, love.” he tries to sound loving, but he’s pretty sure his voice is more a growl than anything; Connor obeys, lifting himself on his elbows and then his hands, breath slowly settling “You’re so good, you’re doing so good.”

Connor makes a small sound in his throat, feels Hank’s fingers on his hip, thumb spreading him open. Hank lines his cock with Connor’s hole with his free hand, presses against it tentatively. He pushes past the tight ring of muscles, feels the resistance until it tightens hard past the rim of his head, twitching once.

The two of them moan together at that, Hank’s sounding like hissed relief and Connor’s sounding like a painful cry as he drops to his forearms. Hank stills, despite how much he wants to drive himself to the hilt into Connor right now.

“Still good?” he runs a hand over the small of Connor’s back “Look at me, sweetheart, are you okay?”

Connor turns to look at Hank over him, side of his face pressed against the bed. His LED flickers between yellow and blue. It’s so much stimulation, Connor doesn’t even know how he manages to speak.

“I’m okay. Please… need more…”

Hank nods at him, pushes in agonizingly slowly, watching closely for Connor’s face or any sign of red in his LED to stop. When he’s pressed flush against Connor, bodies connected seamlessly together at their hips, Hank huffs a breath. Connor is so tight, his skin is so soft, he’s so hot inside. When his cock twitches, buried balls-deep into him, Hank can notice Connor shivering, shoulder blades tensing.

“God, you’re perfect.” Hank leans down, presses a kiss to Connor’s shoulder “Connor, you feel so good.”

Connor bites his lip, expression undone into utter bliss, brown eyes blown wide. Hank’s words feel like tiny sparks over his skin. Hank’s touch feels so gentle, so loving. Hank’s sent in the sheets, Hank, Hank, Hank, around him and over him and _in_ him.

“I love you.” he says with a whine, not understanding why the need to say it hits him so hard now “I love you, Hank, love you…”

Hank presses a kiss to Connor’s cheek, pulling back to then thrust back in, and Connor gasps out, tilts his head enough to kiss him, hot and messy, over his shoulder.

“I love you too, Con.” Hank says between his teeth as he pulls back again, snapping his hips forwards “That feels good?”

“Yes.” Connor manages between one thrust and the following one “Don’t stop…”

Hank makes a low noise in his throat, grabbing harder at Connor’s hips and picking up his pace, enjoying the way each sharp thrust pushes a loud, broken moan out of Connor. He nibbles at Connor’s shoulder, bites harder at it, prying a long whine out of the android, that in response starts pushing his hips back in time with Hank’s pace. It feels good, too good, and Hank knows he’s getting dangerously close, so he slows down, gingerly pulls out of Connor.

“Hank?...” Connor babbles out as the lieutenant reaches for his shoulder and flips him on his back “No, please, don’t stop!”

Hank parts Connor’s thighs, kneels up between them. Hell, Connor’s cock, how did those Cyberlife freaks even manage to make it so perfect? The head of it, red and swollen, beads of precome collecting at the tip, some of it smeared over Connor’s stomach.

“Shh, babe, I got you. Gonna make it feel really good for you, alright?”

Connor slumps back down, eyes pleading.

“Alright.” And he sounds so sweet, so trusting of Hank it makes his heart flutter

Hank pushes back inside him and Connor is pretty sure he can see the electrical sparks in his brain. Connor rolls his hips to make sure Hank slides all the way inside him before the lieutenant pulls out with a groan, wrapping his fingers over Connor’s cock and stroking it in time with his thrusts. Connor wraps his legs around Hank’s waist, pulls Hank into a kiss. His body feels so hot, and every thrust from Hank’s makes him feel hotter. He doesn’t think his system can possibly process any more pleasure than that.

Hank holds his free hand open, letting his skin pull back.

“Give me your hand, Con.”

Connor does it, too overwhelmed to be able to speak. He lets his skin pull back as well, allows the white plastic of their hands to meet, thirium glowing blue inside. And he feels it, Hank’s pleasure, Hank’s love for him, how he cherishes him. He feels his own tightness over Hank’s cock, how good it feels.

Hank can feel it as well. Connor’s love, how he wants him, how he finds him lovely, beautiful. Hank bites a smile over his lip, feeling their love melded together, so intense. He can feel Connor, how his own cock stretches him, how each thrust pleases him.

They let their skins stretch back into place, sharing a wet, messy kiss while Hank pounds away at Connor, swallowing his every moan like it belongs to him.

“Can’t…” Connor begs at last, body coiling under Hank, muscles pulled taut “Hank, I’m so close…”

“Come for me, babe.” Hank demands, fingers squeezing shy of too tight around Connor’s cock as he jerks him off in time with his thrusts “Come for me, let me see you come…”

And what a damn sight it is, Connor rolling his hips hard with every thrust to finally come, mouth open in a silent scream, eyes screwed shut to then flutter open as his cock throbs hard in Hank’s hand, spurts of pearly lubricant staining his stomach and chest. It doesn’t take much for Hank to come after that, especially with the way Connors ass grips tight at him, coiling over and over as to milk him dry.

“Fuck, Connor-”

And he comes hard with a strained groan, spending himself deep into Connor. He can almost fucking feel his balls squeezing tight wave of orgasm washing over him as he gasps on top of Connor. When the hazy feeling settles in, he slowly eases out of Connor to then plop down on his side, blissfully exhausted.

The two of them stay silent, collecting their breaths; even Connor, for whom breathing is not that much of a vital issue. Hank can still feel his heart hammering in his chest. Hell, it’s been a while. After his tongue finally stops feeling like it weighs a ton, he can bring himself to speak:

“Connor? Did you like this?”

Connor nods, turning to look at Hank.

“Very much so.” He says quietly, sounding happy, which makes Hank smile “Did you enjoy it too?”

Hank chuckles, pulling Connor into his arms. The really dangerous law enforcement android doesn’t look all that threatening the way he is now, putty under his hands and purring like a kitten.

“‘Enjoy’ is a good word, yeah.”

Connor hums, kissing the crook of Hank’s neck, enjoys the moment of closeness they’re sharing. His LED is pulsating in a soft blue. His eyes feel heavy, his whole body does. He’s never felt this way before, and it feels strange; he had never been allowed to be incapacitated for this long without being threatened with being decommissioned. Amanda used to say that machines were made to work and that wanting time for leisure was a sign of deviancy. Connor nods to himself, well if he wasn’t sure he’s gone deviant, he’s definitely sure now, because all he wants to do right now is cuddle next to Hank.

“Can’t get up. It’s strange feeling so… weak.”

Hank smiles, presses a kiss to his forehead. Well, if there is something he's learned today…

“It’s okay to be weak sometimes, Con.”

Connor smiles softly and lets his eyes flutter shut, feels Hank’s knuckles caressing his cheek.

“It really is, Hank.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew, this was a LONG one, but I love it! This was initially a 3k fic that grew into a 33k, no biggie.  
I'm so tired! Worth it!  
Please yell at me on tumblr if you have the time - letitrainathousandflames

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t forget to leave kudos or a big ol’ scream in the comments!


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